A Matter of Time, Vol 1
by starlitSKYx
Summary: 17-year-old Scorpius is stuck… in the middle of the Second Wizarding War. This was not where he was supposed to end up, and it's only his first mistake of many more to come. Time-Travel/AU. Mirrors HBP/DH. COMPLETE!
1. Pt1: The Wrong Time

**Summary: **17-year-old Scorpius is stuck… in the middle of the Second Wizarding War. This was not where he was supposed to end up, and it's only his first mistake of many more to come. Time-Travel/AU. Mirrors HBP/DH.

**A/N:** Rated T for torture, some violence, alcohol use, and mild language. This story will get progressively darker. I am not promising a happy ending. Bad things happen to those who meddle with time…

Warning: Contains many Star Wars references. If you haven't seen at least three of the films, this story will spoil them for you.

British English used throughout.

* * *

><p><strong>PART ONE<strong>

**Chapter 1: The Wrong Time**

- _Scorpius -_

Scorpius opened his eyes and slumped against the wall of the broom closet, still feeling dizzy. After a moment, he reached into his robes for his wand and whispered, "_Lumos_." He checked his watch; it was a few minutes past two a.m. He took the item Al had given him—a rather old piece of parchment—out of his pocket, tapped it with his wand, and whispered, "_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_."

The Marauder's Map appeared, and he scanned the corridors leading up from where he was to the seventh floor. He found Mrs Norris on the fifth floor, and Filch on the second. _Does he ever sleep? _Scorpius wondered.

Filch was easy enough to evade, but when he reached the fifth floor, the staircase started to change direction, leading him straight into Mrs Norris' path. Luckily, the worst the cat could do to him was inform her master. He bolted past her and up the two remaining floors. By the time Filch got there it would be too late; Scorpius was already in the Room of Requirement.

The room was dungeon-like, and decorated in green and silver, with a single four-poster bed in the centre. He slept in his clothes, only bothering to remove his shoes; for the moment, he was too tired to care exactly where he had ended up. Morning would come, and he would deal with it then.

He used the map again when he woke, and found hundreds of tiny dots congregated in the Great Hall for breakfast. He did not read the names.

He untied the mokeskin pouch (bewitched with an Undetectable Extension Charm) from his belt and removed the glass vial containing a chunk of Albus Potter's hair and a large flask of thick, mud-coloured potion. He dropped just a few of the hairs into the potion and watched it bubble and change to a pleasant lime colour.

Whether he had made it to the exact time period he had intended, or made a terrible miscalculation, Scorpius knew it would have been unwise to wander around Hogwarts looking like Draco Malfoy's identical twin. Al Potter, however, was anonymous. Though his face was an almost-duplicate of his father's, with no glasses and his lighter hair colour, there was almost no chance of him being recognised.

He set the alarm on his watch to go off every hour, then pulled the chain of his Time-Turner over his head and stuffed it into the pouch.

The windows showed bright sunlight and green grass throughout the grounds; this was a good sign. It should have been early autumn, but there was still the possibility of spring. None of the students he passed looked like they had recently crossed paths with the Carrows, so he remained hopeful.

He entered the Great Hall and found a seat in the vicinity of a girl with familiar blue eyes. Acting as normal as possible, Scorpius allowed his gaze to wander down the table until he saw, toward the opposite end, his father—there was no mistaking him, but Draco's skin was almost greyish, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He looked like he had barely slept. There were two other boys on either side of him, each about twice his size—one of them must have been Gregory Goyle, and the other—no, it couldn't be—not Crabbe, he was supposed to be dead…

The three of them rose and started toward the door. Scorpius looked up at the head table. Dumbledore was not there; that was a good sign, but the Headmaster's seat was empty, and right next to it was…McGonagall. Scorpius stopped eating; he was beginning to feel nauseas. When he looked again, he saw on the other side of the table…

Severus Snape. There was no more doubt. If Snape was still alive and not Headmaster, then Dumbledore was still alive as well. It had to be either autumn of 1996 or spring of 1997. Voldemort was alive and at full power.

Scorpius swallowed his panic and decided that he had to find out the exact date. He approached a lone Hufflepuff boy as he exited the Great Hall, and discovered that it was Wednesday, the thirtieth of April. The year could only be 1997.

Scorpius was in trouble. How long could he stay at Hogwarts without being discovered? He guessed a few days, maybe a week at most before someone would notice him. He did not like it, but he was going to need help, and there was only one person he knew he could trust explicitly—and who was better than anyone at keeping secrets.

He exited the oak front doors and walked out on to the grounds. He sat in the shade of a beech tree with his father's old copy of _Confronting the Faceless _open and propped up against his knees—an easy way to blend in with the current students—but he was not reading. He was planning. The Marauder's Map showed that his hopeful ally was in class; he would have to wait anyway.

He drank the Polyjuice Potion every hour, then when four o'clock came, Scorpius found himself in the dungeons knocking on the door to the office of Severus Snape.

It was answered at the first knock.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Professor," Scorpius said, "but I was wondering if I could talk to you about something, if you have a moment."

Snape stared directly into his eyes and replied, "You are not one of my students."

"You're right, I'm not." Scorpius had planned for this. "I was going to address that, actually. I think I can help you, if you're willing to help me in return. I know some things." He glanced around the corridor. "Would it be all right if we talk privately—just for a moment? I don't want to be overheard."

Snape seemed to consider him, still gazing at those eyes, then finally he said, "Come in, then. Quickly." He beckoned Scorpius inside the office, and they sat down on opposite sides of the desk.

"What is it you want to discuss?" asked Snape.

"Well, considering this is our first meeting, I know I should introduce myself, but—" He had thought about it all day, but now he was struggling to remember the proper words.

"But?" Snape prompted.

"I don't think it'd be wise for you to know who I am just yet." He paused briefly, expecting Snape to interrupt, but he did not.

Scorpius continued, "I'm in a bit of a difficult situation, and I'm in need of an ally. I can help you, if you'll help me, Severus."

"What help could I possibly need from a teenage boy?" Snape sneered, obviously annoyed at the use of his first name.

Scorpius smirked, and silently wondered how out of place it must look on Al's face. "I noticed you've been paying attention to my eyes. You recognise them, don't you? Lily's eyes."

If Snape was surprised at all, he did not show it. Without waiting for an answer, Scorpius continued, "I already know your secret, Severus, and I will keep it for as long as you keep mine. We can call it a deal."

"I don't respond well to blackmail."

"I'd rather not think of it that way," said Scorpius, "but if you insist, then I disagree. I think you're smart enough to know a beneficial arrangement when it's presented to you. All I'm asking is that you refrain from repeating anything I tell you to anyone—that includes Dumbledore."

Snape curled his lip into a sneer and replied, "Let's say I agree, then. What do you want to tell me?"

Scorpius was not satisfied; the answer sounded too hypothetical. "You agree?" he asked again.

Snape nodded.

"I know things about you," Scorpius said, "because I'm not from this time. I came here using a Time-Turner from almost twenty-six years in the future. But I—I made a mistake."

"A mistake?" It was impossible to tell if Snape believed him or not.

"I didn't mean to come here. I meant to arrive around the start of the first school year after the war—after Voldemort was defeated."

"Do not say the Dark Lord's name!" Snape spat.

Scorpius glanced down at his shoes and mumbled, "Sorry. I'm not quite used to him being alive, you see."

"So you're telling me that you came from_ twenty-six years _in the future, and that you're—"

"Stuck here, basically. Even in my time there's still no way to go forward. If you don't believe me—" He untied the pouch from his belt, withdrew the golden Time-Turner and placed it on the desk.

Snape examined the device for a few minutes before responding. "This is not an ordinary Time-Turner," he said, eyeing the boy suspiciously.

"No, it's highly advanced," said Scorpius. "You won't find another like it in this time."

"Who taught you Occlumency?"

Scorpius smirked at the abrupt change of subject, and thought for a moment before answering, "My father did."

"Your father… and who might that be?"

It was an obvious trick; he was not going to fall for it. "That's easy to guess—who else has Lily's eyes?" Snape glared at him. "I told you, I don't want you to know who I am just yet. This isn't what I really look like; I'm using Polyjuice Potion. Harry Potter's second son happens to be my best friend. He's also in Slytherin."

"Assuming that you are telling the truth, are you aware of the danger—not to mention the _illegality _of using such an item?" He was still fingering the Time-Turner.

Scorpius continued to smirk. "Yeah, like you'd turn me over to the Ministry! Imagine what the Death Eaters would do to me if they found out that I know exactly how Voldemort was defeated! Or what they'd do to you if I was forced to tell them you really are working for Dumbledore!"

"What do you want me to do?" Snape had just about given in; Scorpius had a look of triumph in those eyes that were not his own.

"For now, just help me keep my secret. If I ask more of you, then I will give you more in return. I might even save your life."

"It is not my life I am concerned about. You should know that," Snape sneered.

"Harry will survive, as long as everything goes as planned, you won't need to worry about that."

"What about Draco Malfoy?"

Scorpius sighed. "We'll have to discuss him another time. I'm going to dinner."

…

Snape was watching him; he knew it. Scorpius could feel his gaze subtly shifting in his direction each time he entered the Great Hall. With no other option, he had risked sleeping in the Room of Requirement once more, but Scorpius knew he would not be able to use the room much, lest he interfere with his father's plans. He would need to find another place to sleep as soon as possible.

_This. Is. A. Problem_, he thought on the second evening, biting his lip in desperation to think of a plan before curfew.

He had originally planned to stay in Hogsmeade, but with Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters at large, he knew that the protections surrounding Hogwarts would make it so that no student (or no one posing as a student) could leave or enter the grounds without detection.

It was ten minutes to curfew when Madam Pince kicked him out of the library, still without a plan. He would have taken the risk for another night, but as luck would have it, the Marauder's Map showed that Draco was in the Room of Requirement. He hurried down toward the dungeons, improvising.

Snape again answered at the first knock, and looked almost as if he was expecting Scorpius this time.

"Still haven't told Dumbledore about me?" Scorpius asked innocently.

"No, I have not," answered Snape. "Why did you come here?"

"I was hoping you would keep me company." He knew what Snape was really asking, but he had no plan to answer that.

"It's almost past curfew," Snape said. "I suppose you're expecting me to cover for you when you get caught out of bed."

"That would be very helpful," Scorpius remarked. "I don't think it'll be an issue tonight though. I'm not planning to get caught. So how about a cup of tea?"

To his surprise, within minutes, Scorpius found himself sitting in the same chair he had occupied the previous evening, a warm cup of tea in his hand.

"What are you doing here?" asked Snape.

Scorpius took a slow sip from his cup before responding, and this time he made no pretence of misunderstanding the question. "I told you earlier that I made a mistake."

"You said you did not mean to come _here_ specifically, but you _did _mean to travel back in time, and you don't seem intent on finding a way back to your own time."

He started to drum his fingers on the edge of the desk, feeling nervous. Snape already knew he was up to something.

The watch on his wrist began to vibrate, as it had every hour since he had started taking the Polyjuice Potion that morning. He put down his cup of tea and reached for the flask in his pocket, not caring that Snape was watching as he gulped down a tablespoonful of potion.

Snape smirked for a second and said, "You won't even tell me your name, and you seem well prepared. What are you trying to accomplish?"

"I didn't realise this was going to be an interrogation. Maybe I should just head off to bed."

Snape scowled. "You are impertinent."

"I want to tell you what I know, Severus. I just have to be absolutely sure that you won't repeat it to Dumbledore. I need you to trust me."

Scorpius was terrified, though he never would have admitted it. He had barely been in the past for two days, and already he felt exposed and vulnerable. He did not want to fight. He did not want to change anything—not yet. The war had turned out all right the first time around, despite the heavy losses. His whole family had survived. He could not be responsible if someone died who was not supposed to.

"You need me to trust you," Snape was saying. "Then answer me this: do you know what Draco Malfoy is up to?"

Scorpius took a long sip of tea before answering, "Yes. I know exactly what he's doing."

It was becoming increasingly obvious the more he thought about it: he would have to talk to Draco, and it was best to do it as soon as possible.

"And I think I can handle it." He finished his tea and stood up.

"Where are you going?" asked Snape.

"I think I know him better than you do. Let me talk to Draco."

…

He waited for half a minute outside the dungeons to be sure that Snape was not going to follow or try to stop him, then he activated the Marauder's Map and scanned it quickly. If he took the shortcut on the second floor, it was a clear path to the Room of Requirement.

Scorpius waited behind the tapestry that concealed the hidden passageway until the black dot representing Gregory Goyle was joined by Draco Malfoy, then he stuffed the map back into his pocket, and rounded the corner of the seventh floor corridor.

Draco whirled around, startled at the sound of his footsteps, but it was Scorpius who spoke first. "Filch is heading up here," he said. "You'll be caught if you go that way."

Goyle looked to Draco, apparently waiting for some form of instruction, but Draco did not respond. His face looked white in the dim glow of their wands.

"If you follow me, I know another way down," Scorpius continued, keeping a mild, friendly tone.

"Why should I believe you?" asked Draco.

"We don't know each other—why would I lie? Of course, if you'd ratherrisk detention with Filch, that's up to you." He turned the corner and walked back to the hidden passageway, looking back only once he reached the tapestry to see that Draco had silently followed him, with Goyle trailing behind. Scorpius parted the tapestry and squeezed through the opening in the wall to the narrow staircase.

"How did you know Filch was on his way up?" Draco asked as they descended the stairs.

"I passed by him," Scorpius answered.

"What are you doing out after hours, anyway?"

"That's none of your business, is it? I'll be fair; I won't ask what you were doing if you don't ask what I was doing." He smirked, and raised his wandlight higher to better gauge Draco's reaction.

Draco narrowed his eyes and said, "I am a prefect, you know." He indicated the badge on his robes. "I could put you in detention if you don't tell me."

"After I warned you about Filch? You can try to bully me all you want, Draco Malfoy, but I know better. You're no threat," Scorpius scoffed.

Draco's left arm jerked slightly, as though he was itching to prove Scorpius wrong by showing him the Dark Mark, but he remained impassive. Scorpius did not feel threatened by him in the slightest. Dark Mark or no Dark Mark, Draco was nothing more than a scared teenage boy.

They were headed for the Slytherin common room, but Scorpius did not have a dormitory in this time; he could not walk in there with Draco and Goyle—that would give him away immediately.

"I'm going back upstairs. Filch will have moved on by now," Scorpius said as they neared the dungeons, hoping Draco would not be too interested in what he was doing.

Draco eyed him suspiciously and replied, "Are you even in Slytherin? I don't think I've seen you before…"

"Of course I am," said Scorpius, purposely sounding offended. "I'm in seventh year. I just prefer to be alone so I don't spend much time in the common room."

He sighed as he collapsed on the same bed he had woke up in that morning, stripping down to his boxers and t-shirt. He placed the flask of Polyjuice Potion on the bedside table and waited until his features changed back to normal, then set his watch for six o'clock, hoping this would be the last night he would have to risk getting in Draco's way.

But then he thought, the whole point of this journey had so much to do with Draco that getting in the way of his plot to kill Dumbledore was about as inevitable as breathing.


	2. Ravenclaw Tower

**Chapter 2: Ravenclaw Tower**_  
><em>

_- Scorpius -_

As if the first few days had been eventful enough, Scorpius soon found himself, of all things, bored. The hours seemed to drag on forever as he thought about his plans, which he had already devised for the ideal scenario, and how best to adapt them to the mistaken time period. He knew from their brief meeting that Draco would not be receptive to obvious external persuasion, and so he had decided to continue keeping his identity a secret.

There was still the problem of finding a less conspicuous place to sleep. It was already Saturday, and Scorpius was feeling almost as tired as his father looked. Sneaking around Hogwarts, varying his meal times as much as possible to avoid being noticed, and steering clear of Harry Potter (whom he had just remembered had another copy of the Marauder's Map) while barely managing six hours of sleep each night was proving to be exhausting.

As exciting as these escapades sounded, however, he was bored. He had the plan, but he needed Draco alone. There was nothing he could do until the opportunity for a private conversation presented itself.

"Hello there," a dreamy voice greeted as he rested on the grass around lunch time.

He looked up to see a strange-looking girl with blond hair, protruding eyes, and her wand tucked behind her ear for safe-keeping.

"You look familiar, but I don't think I've seen you before," the girl said.

Scorpius had no idea how to respond.

"You look like Harry Potter."

"Really? I never noticed…" said Scorpius, beginning to feel nervous, and hoping she got the impression that there was no particular reason as to why he looked like Harry Potter.

"Are you related? To Harry?"

"Yeah, I'm his son from the future," Scorpius said with blatant sarcasm, not expecting her to believe him, and desperately hoping she would get bored and end the conversation soon.

The girl gazed at him in wonder, seemingly trying to decide if he might be telling the truth. "You're from the future? That's interesting," she said, sounding as though being from the future was something totally normal. "You look sad. Is that why you're sitting here all alone?"

"I suppose," Scorpius replied, then suddenly asked, "What about you? Aren't you going to have lunch?" He was now hoping that she had not had lunch yet and would therefore have a reason to leave him alone and go back inside the castle.

"Oh, I was. A few boys from my class were teasing me, so I decided to come outside. I am a little hungry though."

"Oh." Scorpius looked at her awkwardly, again unsure how to respond. "Well, you can have some of mine, I've got plenty." He offered her half the sandwiches, pumpkin juice, and cauldron cakes he had nicked from the kitchens earlier that morning.

"That's very nice," said the girl, beaming. "I'm Luna Lovegood."

Scorpius thought fast and replied, "Hyperion Evans."

"That's an unusual name," Luna remarked.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Scorpius leaned back against the beech tree, gazing out upon the lake, and out of nowhere he said, "It isn't really."

"What?" asked Luna.

"My name. I'm using a cover because it would be too dangerous if people here knew who I really am. My real name is Scorpius Malfoy." Her eyes grew even wider than normal as he continued, "I'm disguised as Harry Potter's son—my best friend—because I look so much like my father, you'd think we were twins."

He could not seem to stop himself. He told Luna all about his family, about Rose, the real Albus Potter, and his other friends from his Hogwarts. He told her about the illegal Time-Turner, the mistake he had made, and how scared and lonely he felt. Finally he confessed that his father was up to no good in the Room of Requirement, and he did not want to risk interfering.

Luna listened intently until he had exhausted his bottled-up emotions and fully relieved his homesickness, occasionally offering awkward words of comfort, then she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "You could stay in our common room. No one will mind as long as you don't bother them. You could say you were kicked out of Slytherin."

Hours later, as the evening sun began to set, Luna led him to a spiral staircase from the fifth floor of the castle, up to a plain wooden door with a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle.

The view of the surrounding mountains from the windows of the Ravenclaw common room was stunning. The round, lofty room, with its domed ceiling, was almost a polar opposite of the Slytherin dungeons, but Scorpius was certain he could get used to it.

It did not seem like Luna had many friends, which was not surprising, but nevertheless, the Ravenclaws had no problem believing Scorpius' story. Only Mandy Brocklehurst pressed for details, asking in her high, shrilly voice, "Why would the Slytherins kick you out? I thought Slytherins always stuck together."

"They don't stick with blood-traitors," Scorpius muttered darkly. "I called Draco Malfoy an arrogant prat and suggested that he's secretly in love with a Muggle-born Gryffindor girl after I overheard him calling her a Mudblood. He didn't like that at all, so I'm afraid if I go back there, one or more of his cronies will hex me in my sleep, or worse."

He hated reinforcing the Slytherin pure-blood supremacist stereotype, but it was the most plausible excuse, and at least he made it clear that there was at minimum one exception.

"He was talking about Hermione Granger, wasn't he?" said Padma Patil.

Scorpius nodded, and nothing more needed to be said. Luna had been right; the Ravenclaws were generally lacking in nosiness, perhaps because they were much too involved in their studies to bother concerning themselves with trivial gossip—_Merlin, why is she still looking at me?_

He raised his eyebrows, and Padma blushed slightly.

Seized by sudden inspiration, Scorpius asked her, "Chinese Fireball, or Swedish Short-Snout—what do you think?"

"I don't understand the question," Padma replied.

"I'm wondering what sort of tattoo I should get," said Scorpius as he took his regular swig of Polyjuice Potion. He was slumped in a midnight blue armchair next to a bookcase.

"Hmm…" She studied him for a moment. "The Short-Snout."

"Excellent choice, that's exactly what I've got," Scorpius said, smirking. "Want to see?" He started to slowly lift his shirt, revealing just an inch of skin.

"Er—no—I think I'll pass," Padma stammered.

"Another time, then." _Her eyes are pretty_, he thought. They looked like roasted hazelnuts.

"Do you want to play chess?" asked Padma.

Scorpius smiled and said, "I do."

He lost four matches before she finally went to bed, and then with his mind back on his mission, Scorpius borrowed a quill and a sheet of parchment from Cho Chang, and sat down to pen a letter.

_- Draco -_

The sun had risen, and light shone through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, but it was nearly empty. Only three students sat at the long table nearest to the door.

Flanked on either side by his loyal cronies, Draco sat with his elbows on the table and his white-blond head bowed over his empty plate. Crabbe and Goyle were still shovelling food into their large mouths, but Draco had no more desire to eat.

It was Crabbe who pointed out the owl. Draco looked up and a sudden curiosity drowned his worries as he removed an untidy scroll. The letter said:

_I thought you might prefer to talk to someone living. You don't have to go through this alone. If you write back, your owl will find me._

_A friend._

He only stopped staring at the note when Crabbe and Goyle had finally finished eating and stood up, ready to keep a look-out for him while he continued to work on his task for the Dark Lord. His eagle owl had long since flown back across the hall and out the window. Draco led his cronies to the abandoned second-floor bathroom, and handed them the Polyjuice Potion and two glass vials of hair he had subtly acquired from unsuspecting first-year girls.

His mind was on the letter that was now tucked safely in the pocket of his robes. The writing looked vaguely similar to his own, but he could draw no conclusions as to who the writer might be. _Someone living_, he thought as he made his way up to the Room of Requirement, with Crabbe and Goyle following, disguised as girls. _As opposed to someone dead?_

The words were chosen carefully, he had no doubt about that. Someone knew that he had been talking to Moaning Myrtle. Was it possible that the ghost had revealed his secrets? She was hardly the most trustworthy companion… but even then, there was no way anyone could know about his mission. He had always been careful not to mention the details.

The broken Vanishing Cabinet stood in front of him, but he could not concentrate. He took the letter out of his pocket and re-read it several times. The message left so much unsaid. It seemed almost as though the writer was trying to convey that he (Draco could tell from the words and the handwriting that it had to be a male) knew more than he was letting on.

He tore off the blank space at the bottom of the parchment, picked up a quill that had appeared among the nearby hidden things, and scribbled his reply.

_- Scorpius -_

"He's just using you, you know—Dumbledore."

Scorpius was rapidly getting used to the shadowy room that was Snape's office; even the jars of slimy dead objects all along the walls no longer disturbed him. Having nothing better to do, and not wanting to risk running into Dumbledore by wandering the school aimlessly, he had settled with helping to mark first and second year Defence Against the Dark Arts essays.

"I know."

Snape, who was currently on the fourth years, was less easily distracted, but not by much. Scorpius chose that moment to set down his quill and jump to what was really on his mind.

"Yet you continue to follow his orders without question like a mindless servant. What makes _him_better than Voldemort?"

Snape cringed at the sound of the name, but strangely he did not reprimand Scorpius this time.

"The Dark Lord—" He sighed. "Don't make me say it. You know."

"He killed Lily," Scorpius stated. "And Dumbledore has spent the past fifteen years plotting her son's suicide."

Finally deeming the conversation more important than his students' homework, Snape put down his quill as well, and muttered, "You said he will survive."

"He did in my time. If you want any details as to _how_, I'm willing to tell you, for a price. Many still believe that luck had a lot to do with it."

"What is your price?" Snape asked lightly, not indicating any true interest in the proposition, but merely curiosity as to what Scorpius might want.

"Your allegiance."

"I do not appreciate being manipulated, particularly not by some insolent brat who claims to have come from the future."

"But you let Dumbledore do it! It's ridiculous—even after the old man's dead, you'll _still_ be taking orders from his _portrait_! What has he ever done for you? He failed to protect Lily, and he's only keeping Harry alive so that he can die at the correct moment. Sure he gave you a job and kept you out of Azkaban, but is that worth the constant danger you put yourself in by spying for him?"

Snape gaped for a brief moment before regaining control of his facial features and forcing them back into a neutral expression. There was a long silence; Scorpius had effectively rendered Severus Snape speechless.

"Why?" he asked after a while. "Why do you want me as your ally?"

There was a pause, and for the first time since they had met, Scorpius dropped his sneer and told the absolute truth. "I'm afraid that I'll mess something up," he murmured, "and even if I do accomplish what I came here to do, it won't matter. I need help and you're the only adult I trust."

"You trust me only because you believe I will not risk you revealing where my loyalties lie."

"That isn't exactly true." Scorpius smirked mischievously. "I've got a hold on Dumbledore as well, but I wouldn't trust _him _with anything unless I absolutely had to."

"What are you talking about?" Snape looked at him suspiciously.

"The only thing he cares about is the greater good. He'd do anything to defeat Voldemort. I have something that he needs, but as I said, I don't trust him. So I'm saving it to use as a bargaining tool in the event that I ever need something from him."

They stared at each other for a short moment, then Scorpius' expression darkened. "You're never going to trust me, are you, Severus?"

"You are a child," Snape replied coldly. "You may want to try remembering that for more than thirty seconds at a time."

"I'm _seventeen_. I'm of age." Scorpius narrowed his eyes.

"That makes little difference; you are still young."

He could not win; Snape was too loyal to Dumbledore to give in to a kid he barely knew—but there was something else that Scorpius was sure he _could_get.

"Can you teach me the Patronus Charm?" he asked suddenly. "And how to send messages with it?"

"I can," said Snape. "But in return—"

"I'll tell you how Harry survived—but only after I've mastered the spell."

…

It was not until later that evening, minutes past curfew, that he finally saw the eagle owl that he knew belonged to Draco tapping against the nearest window of the Ravenclaw common room. He pushed a first-year out of the way and let the bird inside.

"Hold on a minute," Scorpius muttered before it could fly back to the Owlery. "I want to make sure he gets my answer at breakfast."

He untied the tiny scroll of parchment with shaking fingers. The response was unsurprising:

_I don't know who you are. Why should I trust you? How do you know anything about what I'm supposedly going through?_

Draco _wanted _to talk; he just needed some encouragement before he would admit it. Scorpius found a fresh sheet of parchment and began to contemplate. The owl hooted impatiently.

"Evans?" a female voice interrupted. Cho Chang stood next to his table with her boyfriend, Michael Corner, trailing behind like a lost puppy. Scorpius subtly moved his parchment to cover the letter from Draco.

"Luna Lovegood said you wanted this." Cho placed what looked like a gold Galleon onto the table. "A D.A. coin."

"Right. Thanks." He took the coin and examined it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket. The date of the last Dumbledore's Army meeting was still imprinted in place of the serial number.

"It used to be my friend Marietta's, but… she doesn't need it anymore."

Cho left, and Scorpius returned his attention to the blank parchment. He ended up with:

_I am not blind. I can see how badly you want to tell someone what's going on. I will keep your secrets, no matter what they are. I'm on your side only—no one else's._

_A friend._

He later thanked Luna for getting him the coin, and she correctly guessed what he needed it for. "Something bad is going to happen this year." She stated it like a fact, not a question.

"Yeah, I think so," Scorpius replied. "If I can't stop it…"

"There's no reason to worry," said Luna. "If it would have happened anyway, then it can't be your fault. Sometimes things have to happen a certain way, and there's nothing we can do to change it."

He smiled. "I suppose."

He did not go to breakfast the following morning. Draco would get the letter then, and if he decided to respond immediately, Scorpius could not risk him seeing who the owl would go to. He sat outside in his regular spot by the lake when the morning post arrived, and within fifteen minutes, Scorpius was greeted by the familiar eagle owl, carrying the same scroll he had asked it to deliver the previous night.

For a moment, he feared the worst—that Draco had simply sent it back unopened, but when he unrolled the parchment, he noticed that two words had been added in slightly different handwriting to the bottom: _Prove it_.

His heart beat rapidly as he again told the owl to wait, took the self-inking quill he had pilfered from an unsuspecting second-year that he now kept in his pocket, and scrawled: _Meet me in the courtyard after classes. Come alone._


	3. Crucio

**Chapter 3: Crucio**_  
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_- Scorpius -_

"You again?" Draco asked as Scorpius approached him. He was trying to sound annoyed, Scorpius knew, but he heard the confusion in his tone.

"Let's go inside," said Scorpius, giving him a friendly smile. It was a warm day, and the courtyard was crowded with students.

"I haven't got all day."

"Well, I on the other hand, have all the time in the world. So there's no need to rush."

Draco sneered, implying that he knew he would have his way regardless, then he said, "You haven't adequately answered my question."

"What question?" asked Scorpius.

"I'm not going to ask you again." Draco hesitated a second, then added, "You _are _the one who's been writing to me?"

Scorpius reached into his pocket for the folded scrap of parchment containing Draco's response to the first letter he had sent. He allowed Draco to glance over, re-reading the message, and confirming that he was his mysterious correspondent.

"You asked me two questions," Scorpius said. "I'll answer one. Which is more important to you?"

Scorpius pushed open the oak front doors absentmindedly while Draco considered his choice. Although Scorpius had not explicitly said it, he seemed to know that he would _only _get one answer.

"Why should I trust you?"

"For the same reason I trust _you _not to curse me and wipe my memory because I _might _know that you're up to something. We're on the same side." He had no idea where the answer had come from; it had simply slipped off his tongue, and he was astonished at how convincing it sounded.

"I wouldn't curse you in broad daylight where there might be witnesses," Draco muttered so quietly that Scorpius could barely hear the words.

Draco had taken the lead and was beginning to climb the stairs; Scorpius suspected he was planning to end the meeting and head straight for the Room of Requirement the moment they reached the seventh floor—he would have to prove his loyalty quickly.

"You could have done the other night. You even had back-up while I was alone, and I still trusted you not to hurt me."

Draco stopped. Their eyes locked. "That's not what you said." Scorpius knew what he was referring to; he had said that Draco was no threat.

He had not planned to tell Draco too much, but the small amount of progress was quickly beginning to break him. "I was looking for you that night," he confessed. "I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't say anything in front of Goyle."

They started walking again, past the second floor. Draco remained determinedly silent. It was not until they reached the fourth floor that he spoke again. "Do you really think I'm going to tell you anything? Whether I want to or not is of no consequence. You can't help me."

Scorpius was at a loss. Draco was a lot more stubborn and guarded than he had expected.

"If you're really on my side, you either already know or you don't need to, and you'd be better off to mind your own business."

Scorpius silently debated whether he should reveal that he _did _already know, but he knew the first thing Draco would ask was how, and he would likely not let the matter rest until he received an acceptable answer.

"You've been awfully quiet," Draco remarked suddenly, then Scorpius realised they had just reached the seventh floor. "As I've said, I have things to do. Unless there's something more you'd like to say?"

"You're not a killer, Draco. You never will be."

He did not know what made him say it, but he knew from the brief glimpse he got of Draco's terrified face that he had crossed some line that he had not yet managed to fully draw. He turned away and fled back down the stairs, wishing that Draco would follow, but knowing he would not.

His heart skipped a beat when he activated the Marauder's Map and found a dangerously familiar name moving out of the Gryffindor common room and toward the Room of Requirement: _Harry Potter_. He had completely forgotten to make sure that he and Draco did not go anywhere near him.

A pang of guilt shot through him as he stood frozen on the staircase, watching the two dots apprehensively. If Harry caught up with Draco, then it was Scorpius' fault for distracting him long enough to give him the chance.

Something was wrong with what was happening. They had both reached the correct corridor, but while Draco started to pace, Harry's dot was still. Draco would not be stupid enough to open the Room of Requirement with Harry Potter watching, unless… _the Invisibility Cloak_.

Suddenly, Scorpius no longer cared about his own secrets; he had promised to keep Draco's no matter what, and Harry was _not_ supposed to know. He bolted back up the stairs and down the corridor, keeping one eye on the map, and then a number of things happened all at once: Draco whirled around; the door to the Room of Requirement had already appeared; Scorpius' dot lined up with Harry's; his wand was already out, and before either of the other two boys could react, Scorpius shouted, "_Stupefy_!"

Draco had drawn his wand instinctively, but when a loud _bang_erupted, indicating that the spell had hit its target, he merely looked confused. This lasted only a split-second before Harry Potter's unconscious body toppled forward into him, the Cloak of Invisibility slipping off and forming a silvery mass on the floor.

"Potter," Draco gasped, then he looked at Scorpius with a mixture of suspicion and the tiniest hint of gratitude.

"He was trying to spy on you," Scorpius stated unnecessarily. A few seconds passed in stunned silence, then he said, "I thought you had things to do. Go. I'll take care of him."

Draco nodded and pushed Harry out of his arms, letting him fall to the floor, then he glanced at the door in front of him, hesitating. It was only when Scorpius raised an eyebrow, indicating that he already knew where Draco was going, that he finally entered the Room of Requirement.

As the door disappeared into the wall, Scorpius was left with the task of deciding what to do with the unconscious and rather unlucky Harry Potter. He could not simply leave him there, but he did not want to cast a _Renervate_spell and then have Harry promptly wake up and identify him as the Scorpius Malfoy he had been attempting to chase around with the Marauder's Map for the past couple of days.

He deactivated his map and slipped it back into his pocket, his hand falling on the fake Galleon that he had got from Cho Chang. He held the coin in his hand for a short moment, then checked his watch. He touched his wand to the coin, changing the numbers, scheduling the next D.A. meeting for five minutes from the current time. It burned in his hand when he finished.

Scorpius ambled away back to the grand staircase, satisfied. Someone else from Dumbledore's Army could deal with their temporarily fallen hero. By the time he was rescued, Scorpius would already be safe in the only place he was sure Harry would never willingly go—he was due for another Patronus lesson with Severus anyway.

…

"I don't understand! Why can't I do it?"

Scorpius was not pleased. Snape had lent him a key to his office so he could practise the Patronus Charm during the day, but after countless hours, he still had only managed to produce silvery wisps of smoke.

"You are letting your frustration get to you," Snape drawled. "Sit down. Drink this." He slid a teacup across the desk, and Scorpius sat down.

"What did you put in it?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

Snape handed him the glass bottle without comment. Scorpius read the label and uncorked it to examine the contents, making sure that everything matched up. "'An Elixir to Induce Euphoria?'" he read. "This is a powerful potion. What are you trying to do to me?"

"I only added a few drops to your tea. You will hardly feel it, but it will help you to focus on pleasant thoughts."

_Of course_, he thought. Snape wanted answers. The sooner Scorpius could form a Patronus, the sooner they could move on to _his _part of the bargain. He tried the tea warily, but Snape had told the truth; the effect was almost unnoticeable. After a few hesitant sips, he downed the entire cup, and stood up to try the spell again.

_A happy memory_, he thought to himself, closing his eyes. _The happiest I can think of_… If the only time he had ever caught the Snitch against James Potter was not good enough, that left only…

_'Think about _me_, Scorpius. I make you happy, don't I?'_

_Rose…_ Her freckled face and curly red hair flooded his mind, as though she were standing right before him._ Not anymore._

_'But I'm your girlfriend! Or have you forgotten all about me already?'_

_I don't know how to get home. I might never see you again._

_'That wouldn't be a problem if you hadn't left without me. I'm never going to forgive you for that, Scorpius Malfoy.'_

_I'm in the middle of a _war_! I couldn't risk bringing you here!_ This was why he had avoided thinking of Rose at first—thoughts of her could only lead to an imagined argument—but then he remembered the way she pursed her lips when she was angry—_Merlin, she's so cute_—and how kissing her right then always seemed to make it better.

_'Do you even remember what it's like to kiss me?'_

_Of course I remember…_ "_Expecto patronum_!" He opened his eyes just in time to see a silver mist form out of the tip of his wand, and sat back down immediately, feeling disappointed.

Snape left for dinner at five o'clock, instructing Scorpius to be gone before six as he had quite enough of his company lately. Scorpius tried the spell a few more times, but the silver mist was the best he could produce.

Finally, he took out the Marauder's Map. Draco was evidently venting about his worries to Moaning Myrtle again, Scorpius saw, and it added to his disappointment (because Draco _should_ have been talking to _him_), and then his gaze locked on Harry Potter moving along a passageway that led to the sixth floor.

_This cannot be good_, he thought for a second before he fully comprehended why. Harry was headed straight toward Draco, and he probably knew it. _This is bad_. Scorpius folded up the map and followed.

He had no way of being certain if it was his fault this time, but he felt that he needed to be there, just in case. His mission and his identity were inconsequential compared to the disaster that would happen if Harry forced a confession out of Draco.

He was too late. Scorpius stood flat against the wall outside the bathroom; Harry was already inside. The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear pipes bursting and glass shattering; they were fighting, and from the sound of it, both were evenly matched. Moaning Myrtle was screaming for them to stop, but her pleas went unheeded, and then Scorpius heard Draco shout one final spell, "_Crucio_!"

"_Sectum—_"

Harry screamed; Draco's curse had hit before he could complete his counter. Scorpius froze. The screaming intensified—it was deafening. _I've got to stop this_, Scorpius thought, but shock rooted him to his spot, and he could not bring himself to move a muscle.

His shoulders tensed as he caught sight of Snape marching down the corridor toward the bathroom, his face livid, no doubt drawn by Harry's screams. He shot a glare at Scorpius, who looked horrified, before bursting into the room.

"Draco!" he heard Snape reprove. It seemed to have broken Draco's focus; the screaming stopped.

Snape exited the bathroom a moment later, half-carrying Harry, who was bleeding—likely having smashed his head against the floor—and seemed barely conscious.

"You. My office. Now," Snape said just barely loud enough for Scorpius to hear, and then he left in the direction of the hospital wing.

Scorpius hesitated, staring transfixed at the bathroom door. Finally, he decided he could not even look at his father after what he had witnessed, and silently headed toward the dungeons.

_- Draco -_

The bathroom was in shambles. Water flooded the floor where Draco stood, his wand arm limp against his side, and his whole body shaking. He felt stunned. It was all over; he would surely be expelled at least. He had failed his task because of Potter.

Draco had not moved one inch from his spot when Snape returned twenty minutes later. "Follow me, Draco," he said with no trace of kindness or sympathy in his voice.

Draco followed without complaint, and quickly realised they were not heading toward Snape's office in the dungeons. They stopped in front of a stone gargoyle; Snape muttered a password and shoved Draco up the spiral staircase that appeared.

Dumbledore stood behind a huge desk in the circular office, looking grave. "Have a seat, Draco," he said, gesturing to the chair in front of him.

Draco obeyed, again without a word of protest, his gaze fixed to the floor. A few minutes silence passed, and then it was broken as Professor McGonagall entered. "Poppy says he will not suffer any permanent damage, but he will need to stay in the hospital wing overnight," she stated in a stern voice, pointedly avoiding looking at Draco.

Dumbledore nodded, then said, "Now Draco, I want you to tell us what happened."

How ironic, Draco thought, to be at the mercy of the man that he was supposed to kill. At least there had been no witnesses, apart from Snape and Moaning Myrtle. For once the Unbreakable Vow would work in his favour. "He attacked me," Draco answered. "I reacted."

"You are claiming that Potter attacked unprovoked, and that you acted in self-defence?" asked Snape, his tone laced with doubt.

"Yeah," Draco confirmed. "I was just minding my own business, and then he showed up and—"

"I can't imagine what Potter could have done that would warrant the use of an Unforgivable Curse, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall interrupted. "Whether it was self-defence or not, if it were up to me, I would see to it that you were expelled from Hogwarts."

"Were there any other witnesses, Severus?" asked Dumbledore.

Snape hesitated for barely a second before answering, "Aside from what I saw, it is Potter's word against Draco's."

Draco knew Dumbledore would believe Potter over just about anyone. "Am I going to be expelled? Sir?" he asked, wanting to get it over with.

"I don't think so, Draco," said Dumbledore, looking at him with piercing blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles. "Not this time."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. "However," Dumbledore continued, "I must stress the severity of the situation. I'm afraid I cannot let your actions go unpunished."

"What's my punishment then?"

"Professor Snape and I will decide that after I have heard Harry's side of the story. For now, you may return to your dormitory. Unless… there is something else you would like to tell me?"

Draco shook his head.

_- Scorpius -_

It was nearing seven o'clock when Snape returned to his office, and Scorpius asked just as the door closed, "Is Harry okay? Draco won't be expelled, will he?"

"Potter will make a full recovery," Snape answered. "Draco will not be expelled, but he _will_ be punished. _Why _didn't you stop him?"

Scorpius narrowed his eyes, angry that Snape was even partially blaming him for what had happened. "I didn't know what to do! I froze. I never would have expected him to use an Unforgivable, not even on his worst enemy… he wouldn't…"

"He _did_. He claims that Potter attacked him first."

Scorpius shook his head. "I don't think so. I didn't see, so I can't say for sure, but they didn't start fighting until a while after Harry walked in, and… it sounded like Draco cast the first curse. They were evenly matched. I think he wanted to end it quickly."

Snape sighed, and then said, "What has Draco been doing?"

"I'm not going to tell you. I already said I can handle it." In truth, he was not sure if he could handle it anymore—Draco was more troubled than he had originally thought—but still Scorpius knew that he at least had a better chance at converting him to the right side than Snape did.

"Will he succeed?"

Scorpius bit his lip. "To be honest… I don't know. I don't think the fight today happened in my time line. I should have stopped it. If you put him in detention… he may not have enough time to get the first part of his task done. Ultimately though, he didn't kill Dumbledore in my time and won't do so in this time."

He paused briefly, then continued, "I've thought about it, and I think we need to give him a chance to kill Dumbledore. He won't do it, but he needs to realise that himself. He will only resent you more if you punish him just to get in his way."

"If detention is out of the question, then what would you suggest?"

If it were not for the seriousness of the situation, Scorpius would have been smirking uncontrollably. Snape was actually, for the first time, speaking to him as an equal—a _partner—_and giving his opinion genuine consideration.

"There might be a way that it _can _work…" said Scorpius, "but you have to give me your word that if all else fails, you will let him have a clear shot—otherwise he'll just blame you for his failure."

"You are absolutely certain that he will not kill Dumbledore under any circumstances? He has already made two attempts…"

Scorpius hesitated; he had forgotten about the other two attempts. "Two pathetic attempts that never would have worked," he stated. "He won't be able to look him in the eyes and kill him—that, I'm certain of."

Snape closed his eyes for a moment, looking thoughtful, then he said, "Very well, you have my word. He will get his chance. What is your plan?"

Scorpius smirked as he told of his idea, and together they worked until well passed curfew, eliminating every possible flaw. In the process, Scorpius conveniently forgot to take his hourly dose of Polyjuice Potion.


	4. Malfoys in Detention

**Chapter 4: Malfoys in Detention**_  
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_- Draco -_

Potter was still in the hospital when breakfast ended on Wednesday, though Draco could not imagine why. The Cruciatus Curse was not lethal; what kind of damage could he possibly have done? Snape had already approached him at the Slytherin table with the message that he was to meet him after first period to discuss his punishment.

When the bell rang, he packed up slowly and grudgingly headed down to the dungeons to receive what he was certain may as well have been his death sentence.

Snape wasted no time with small talk. "You are to hand in your prefect badge, you are not to have any contact with Harry Potter, and you will have detention with me every evening until the end of term."

"_Every evening_?" Draco said through gritted teeth. He did not particularly care about losing his privileges as a prefect, but with that many detentions, there was no way he would get the Vanishing Cabinet fixed on time. He dropped his badge on the desk and closed his eyes tightly; he was dangerously near the brink of tears.

"I realise this puts you in a difficult position," said Snape.

"Yeah, like you haven't been waiting for me to mess everything up," Draco retorted with as much venom as he could muster.

"If I had not spoken for you, you would have been lucky to be expelled, and then where would you be?" said Snape.

Draco did not respond; he stared at Snape with resentment in his eyes, trying not to think of what would have happened to him if he had been expelled.

"Draco…" Snape sighed. "Evans told me about the Vanishing Cabinet."

He did not need to ask who 'Evans' was; the mysterious boy who somehow seemed to know what he was up to had never mentioned any name.

"I hope you realise that with this punishment, you will not have enough time to complete your task. I suggest that you allow me to assist you. It is your only option."

Draco stayed silent. He did not want to accept Snape's help, but still he knew that he had no choice; he had already failed.

"Listen to me," Snape continued. "While you are in detention, I can repair the cabinet for you. Once it is finished, what you do then is up to you; I will not interfere. The task is yours. I only want to ensure that you succeed."

Finally, Draco responded, "Okay. But then, who's going to be supervising my detentions?"

"That is of no concern to you," Snape replied. "Six o'clock, my office, every evening beginning today. If you miss a single detention without a valid excuse, you _will _be expelled."

Snape then scrawled him a pass for the ten minutes of class time he had missed, and thrust it across the desk, clearly indicating a dismissal.

_- Scorpius -_

By the time lunch came, Scorpius could not imagine how his situation could possibly get any worse. Nothing could stop the horribly mixed-up thoughts running through his head. _How could Father have done that? He would never… Would Harry have told me if it happened last time?_

He suddenly felt a desire to ask _this_Harry about his last thought, and even hesitated in the Entrance Hall, knowing that he had about three minutes before Harry would be close enough to spot him. Then he remembered that he was still avoiding contact with him.

_Why am I avoiding him, again? _he wondered just before Luna found him and they headed outside. There must have been a specific reason, but he could not seem to remember what it was, unless he really had never bothered to think of a reason apart from the fact that it seemed like a bad idea.

He started to think of it as he and Luna searched for a secluded spot away from the castle, and one by one the reasons (or perhaps they were merely rationalisations) took shape in his mind. _He might not trust me. I don't want to lie to him. He might report me to Dumbledore. He doesn't trust Snape. He could tell Draco. He might do something rash and ruin the whole plan._

"There's a reason you never eat lunch inside, isn't there?" Luna asked as they sat down on the grass in a corner of the courtyard.

"I have a really strong feeling that Harry Potter is trying to find out who I am," Scorpius replied.

"Yes, he did ask about you."

"He did? You didn't tell him anything, did you?"

"I told him what you told everyone else. He did guess your name though."

_So Harry is friends with Luna… how could I not know that? _he wondered, then in response, his thoughts formed a possible answer, and his expression turned horrified.

"What's wrong, Scorpius?" asked Luna. "I don't think he knows…"

_No. Why would Harry mention her? It's not like I would have been interested,_ he reasoned. _It doesn't mean she died. It can't._

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," Scorpius said.

The minutes passed quicker then, at least until the conversation drifted to current events, and Scorpius confirmed that the rumours about the fight were true.

"I think you should tell him," Luna said, referring to Draco. "He has a right to know."

"I know," said Scorpius. "I plan to, but he wouldn't be able to handle it yet. He's got other things on his mind right now."

He knew Luna was right, but he had not told her the specifics of Draco's mission; she had no idea what would happen at the end of the year.

Then he thought, _What if he truly _is_ loyal to the other side? Voldemort wouldn't care that he couldn't kill Dumbledore if he just handed _me_ over._ Maybe Draco was not capable of murder, but Scorpius could no longer pretend that he was completely innocent. He would have to tread carefully.

…

Scorpius did not practise the Patronus Charm that day. He was sure that not even all the Euphoria potion in the world could have forced a strong enough happy thought into his mind at that moment. It was with a mix of anxiety, fear, and a small glimmer of hope that he made his way to the dungeons after dinner.

He still could hardly believe that he had managed to relieve Draco of any real punishment. He wondered if it was really a good idea, but he supposed that they did have about a month's worth of detentions… If Draco was uncooperative, he could make him write lines or something.

Draco was two minutes late, but all Snape said to him was, "You are not to leave this room until I return."

"What am I supposed to be doing?" Draco's voice was only a murmur.

"I don't care," Snape answered, and then left without another word.

Scorpius sat down behind the desk, in the chair that Snape normally occupied, and Draco took the one in front. Neither of them spoke.

Minutes passed. Draco alternated between staring down at his hands and glancing up at Scorpius. Scorpius did not look at him. Both seemed to be waiting for the other to break the silence.

"Why did you tell him?" Draco blurted out. Immediately, he looked regretful, as though he had about a hundred questions fighting for priority, and that was not the best one to win.

"I had to," said Scorpius. "What would you have done if I hadn't? You'd still be stuck in detention."

Draco did not reply to this; instead he tried to rectify his mistake with a more important question. "How do you even know? It shouldn't be possible. I didn't tell _anyone _about the—"

He froze abruptly, and looked at Scorpius with obvious fear. Draco _had_ told someone about the Vanishing Cabinet—just _one _person. Scorpius was sure that only Lord Voldemort knew exactly how his young Death Eater intended to smuggle his followers into Hogwarts.

"Who _are _you? I know you're not in Slytherin."

"How did you figure that out?" Scorpius wondered.

"I asked Miles Bletchley. He said there's no one named Evans in seventh year, at least not in our house."

Scorpius sighed. He should have seen this coming. "All right, I'll tell you the truth. I _was _in Slytherin, but I'm not really a student here anymore. I'm working undercover, and Snape is helping to keep me hidden from Dumbledore and anyone who might be suspicious."

Draco was giving him that poorly-disguised look of fear again; Scorpius could tell what he was thinking, but he was stuck. He wished he had thought of what to say in advance. Making it up on the spot could only go horribly wrong.

"Are you a Death Eater?" Draco finally asked.

Without thinking, Scorpius shook his head. "No, I'm not."

"Then how can you possibly know?"

"I found out by accident, and I want to help you," he tried. "You don't have to do this alone. Please trust me."

"I don't even _know _you, and I don't want or need your help," Draco said with a surprising amount of hostility.

Scorpius turned away, not wanting to look at him anymore. After a while, he muttered, "Would you rather I leave you alone?" There was a slight sneer in his voice, but there was no doubt that he was serious.

"Yeah, I would," said Draco.

"Is that really what you want? Be honest, Draco."

He seemed to think about it. A moment passed, then Draco gulped, as though holding back tears. "Yes," he whispered. "Just leave."

Scorpius opened the top drawer of the desk, took out a blank roll of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink, and set them down in front of Draco, then he stood up.

"You're going to write, 'I will not use Unforgivable Curses.' Twenty-five times."

"You're not serious?" Draco said in disbelief. He clearly had not thought that Scorpius would actually try to punish him.

"I have to come back by curfew," Scorpius explained quietly. "If it isn't done before then, I'll tell Snape that you're not cooperating with your punishment."

He spent the next two hours in the library, researching time travel, figuring that there must be a way to go forward if one had already gone back. He did not put much effort into the research, however, fearing that he would be tempted to give up and go home if he found a way too quickly.

Scorpius returned to Snape's office just after nine o'clock. The parchment was laid out in a corner of the desk, with the quill and ink bottle beside it. It took him only a glance to see that the lines were written neatly, and clearly numbered for easy inspection.

Draco's eyes were red and swollen. Scorpius started making tea—chamomile, to be precise. Draco watched him.

"Here," Scorpius said, pushing a cup across the desk, but Draco merely stared at it. "I suggest you drink it. You look like a bloody mess. Wouldn't want anyone asking questions."

Draco took a sip, and Scorpius poured himself a cup as well. Snape returned at ten o'clock, and dismissed Draco immediately, warning him to go straight to bed.

"Take this," said Scorpius suddenly, handing Draco the parchment containing his lines. "In case you need reminding."

Scorpius left a few minutes later, dodging Filch on his way up to the Room of Requirement, where it was now safe for him to sleep. Oddly, the room resembled Ravenclaw Tower this time, though the colours were the familiar green and silver.

The second evening started exactly the same way as the first: Snape left with barely a word, then both Malfoys took their allotted seats in silence. It was Scorpius who spoke first this time, "Are you just going to sit there and sulk for the next four hours, or would you rather do something?"

"Like what?" asked Draco.

"We could play chess," Scorpius suggested. "Or Exploding Snap, or something. We could talk—about non-sensitive topics, like Quidditch."

"Do you play?" said Draco unexpectedly.

"I played Seeker," Scorpius answered with a slight smirk, liking the progress.

"For Slytherin?"

"Yes."

"I'll check the records tomorrow…" Draco muttered.

Scorpius realised what he had done, but still he asked innocently, "Why would you do that?"

"To see what you're lying to me about," said Draco, as though it was obvious. "Or you can save me the trouble and tell the truth."

_So much for talking about Quidditch_… "Don't bother checking. You won't find anyone named Evans."

"So what's your real name?" Draco asked. "Or are you really a Gryffindor? You're not very cunning for Slytherin."

"I'm _not_ a Gryffindor. I'm not _trying _to be cunning because—" he hesitated "—I want to be your friend. I let my guard down."

"Why? What do you want from me?"

Scorpius sighed, and ended the conversation with, "Have you still got your parchment from yesterday?"

To his surprise, Draco took the parchment, which was rolled into a tidy scroll, out of his pocket and laid it out on the desk. Scorpius handed him a quill and a bottle of ink. "Let's continue up to a hundred."

Scorpius spent the time marking Defence Against the Dark Arts homework, as Snape had sternly ordered him not to leave Draco unattended again, and he had not wanted to tell him about the Marauder's Map. They again ended the session with chamomile tea, but this time Scorpius had cunningly spiked it with a small amount of Sleeping Potion.

On the third day, Scorpius resumed practising the Patronus Charm. He tried imagining how happy he would be once he and Draco could fully trust each other. He thought—just once—that he might have seen his silvery smoke start to take on the beginnings of a shape.

He did not attempt to make conversation at the beginning of their detention, but instead handed Draco a quill and parchment immediately. "Write, 'I will not mistrust my friends.' Until I tell you to stop."

"Should I number them?" asked Draco, sounding uncharacteristically compliant.

Scorpius smirked at his initiative and answered, "Yes."

They resumed their normal routine. Occasionally Scorpius would glance over to see what number Draco was at, and every so often Draco would look up and meet his eyes, silently asking if it was enough yet. He had written well over a hundred and fifty lines before he suddenly set down his quill.

"I didn't say you could stop," Scorpius said, smirking.

"My hand is aching," Draco replied with something like a whine.

"So, use the other one."

Draco looked at him incredulously. "I can't write with both hands."

"Well, we still have about an hour… If you want to stop for tonight, then we have to play chess."

"Fine. Your message isn't going to sink in anyway. You're not my friend."

Scorpius almost laughed; it was obvious that the message _was _sinking in. "I told you that I was when I first wrote to you, and you didn't deny it then, so I'm not going to believe you now."

He found a wizard chess set, smiling when Draco chose the white pieces. Draco played lazily, clearly not really wanting to, but Scorpius noticed his lack of enthusiasm and thus did not play his best in order to prolong the match. Regardless, Draco lost within twenty minutes.

"You know, the last Quidditch match is tomorrow…" said Scorpius, figuring Draco must have some interest in that.

"So? I'm not going," Draco said.

"Thought you loved Quidditch," Scorpius pressed.

"I have no desire to watch Potter win the Cup for Gryffindor."

"If what I've heard is accurate, Gryffindor needs to beat Ravenclaw by at least three hundred points in order to win the Cup. They might not."

"Either way, Slytherin is almost guaranteed to end up in fourth place, so what's the point of watching?"

Scorpius chose this moment to start making tea, saying over his shoulder, "And who's fault is that? _You're _supposed to be the Seeker, but you haven't been playing all year, have you?"

"I've had more important things to do," Draco muttered.

"But you won't tomorrow. If you really don't want to go to the match, we could do something else. I can get you off detention in exchange."

The tiny beginnings of a smirk formed on Draco's face as he replied, "In case you hadn't noticed, Evans, I really don't care about detention. I would have spent the time in the Room of Requirement anyway."

Scorpius was _not _going to let him win. "All right, then we'll change the time of your detention tomorrow to 10 a.m., and we'll do it outside."

"And Snape's going to approve of this?"

Scorpius handed him a cup of tea, smirking happily. "Haven't you figured it out yet? _I'm _in charge, not him."

Draco scowled. "I still don't understand what you want from me."

"I told you. I just want to be friends." It was no use; Draco rolled his eyes, implying that he knew there had to be more to it.


	5. Greener Grass

**Chapter 5: Greener Grass**

_- Scorpius -_

Scorpius had high hopes for Saturday, not held back in the slightest by the belief that optimism usually led to disappointment, and so it started at 9:30 a.m., when Scorpius decided to sit with the Slytherins at breakfast, rather than the Ravenclaws.

"You said ten o'clock," Draco stated without looking up as Scorpius squeezed in beside him.

"You're counting breakfast? We'll start early then," Scorpius replied. A plate appeared in front of him and he began filling it with waffles and fruit.

"You are insufferable," said Draco, still not looking at him. Crabbe and Goyle watched the exchange from his other side in bewilderment.

A trio of Slytherin girls approached the table within a few minutes later, two of them giggling. The third one was looking longingly at Scorpius with bright blue eyes. The girls sat down directly across from him.

Scorpius looked up, and the blue-eyed girl flashed him a sweet yet sophisticated smile. Instinctively, he smiled back. The other two resumed their giggling, and one of them whispered something to her. She looked back at Scorpius, saying coyly, "Hello."

He felt his cheeks turn a pale pink. He had sat near this girl a few times before, mostly at dinner, but he had never expected her to take notice of him. He had no more doubt of who it was. "Hello, Miss Greengrass," Scorpius replied.

Draco gave him a look he had never seen before, then Scorpius noticed he had started eating faster. Before Astoria could even begin to make conversation, Draco had finished, informed Crabbe and Goyle that his detention had been rescheduled, and stood up. Scorpius had no choice but to follow.

"I'm not going to Quidditch," Draco announced once they had exited the front doors. "I know Potter's going to win."

"You're that confident? I'll bet you five Galleons that Gryffindor wins but Ravenclaw takes the Cup."

"How do I know you _have_five Galleons?" Draco questioned with a very deliberate smirk.

Scorpius started to untie the pouch around his belt as they continued walking. A large heard of students behind them was already heading toward the Quidditch pitch, but they stopped and sat down on the grass in the courtyard. They would be able to see the match and hear the commentary from there, but it would be easy to ignore if they chose to.

He took a regular pouch out of the magically expanded one, and poured a number of gold Galleons into his hand. Draco continued smirking, and challenged, "Make it ten Galleons, and if you win, I'll give you my blessing for the Greengrass girl."

Scorpius looked like he had just been slapped in the face. "_What_is that supposed to mean?"

"You _fancy_Astoria Greengrass, don't you? I've seen the way you look at her."

He vaguely felt his mouth fall open, but no words came out. He could not believe what Draco was suggesting. "I don't _fancy_her!" he finally said.

"Clearly," Draco scoffed, obviously not believing him. "Do we have a bet?"

Scorpius took a moment to futilely attempt to smooth Al Potter's hair, still not used to how messy it could get, then he replied carefully, "Yeah, we have a bet. So if I win, you'll give me your blessing? What does that mean? If I _did_fancy her… you don't approve?"

"No, I don't," Draco said calmly, lying down on the grass.

"And why not?" The shock had worn off, and he was now smirking incredulously. He shoved his bag of Galleons back into the mokeskin pouch, re-tied it to his belt, and then lied down next to Draco.

"She's a pure-blood. She deserves better."

"But I'm pure-blood," Scorpius muttered.

"Prove it. What's your surname? The truth. I know it's not Evans."

His smirk faded. "I can't tell you that yet."

"You say you want to be my friend," Draco said slowly, "but you won't tell me anything about you. I just don't understand why. I'm not going to hold it against you if you're a half-blood, or gay, or whatever else—"

"I'm not either of those!"

Scorpius sighed. The match had started, and for a while, they both listened to Seamus Finnigan's commentary and watched the seven blue and seven red figures in the sky. Scorpius did not mind the silence—it was not awkward; they simply had nothing that needed to be said.

_This must be what it's like to have a brother_, he thought. He was starting to wonder if he was being overly cautious by considering that Draco might try to turn him to Voldemort's side.

Gryffindor had just scored and were up by over a hundred points when Draco suddenly asked, "What's your greatest fear, Evans?"

Scorpius met his gaze, blinking in surprise at the apparently random question. It was a while before he answered, "Losing everything I love. What's yours?"

Draco smirked faintly. "Are you humouring me, or is this actually something you _don't_mysteriously know?"

"I would guess Voldemort—" Draco winced "—but that seems a bit obvious. You asked the question first, though I am curious."

"Disappointment," answered Draco. "Letting my family down. All I ever wanted, more than anything else, was to live up to my name and make my father proud."

Scorpius sat up and began playing with a fallen twig from a nearby tree. "I don't know what to say," he muttered after a moment.

"I told you one of my secrets. Take it as a peace offering. I'm trying to accept your offer of friendship." He sat up as well, and Scorpius turned away from the Quidditch match to face him. "I'd rather talk to you than that pathetic Mudblood ghost."

Scorpius abruptly snapped the twig. Draco said, "Can we agree that there won't be any secrets between us?"

"I'm sorry, but it's not that simple," said Scorpius. "You haven't really given me a reason to trust you."

"You haven't given me a reason to trust _you_," Draco retorted.

"I _have_. You're just refusing to see it."

"Explain."

"I told you that I'm not a Death Eater, and I _clearly_don't side with them either. But I haven't turned you over to Dumbledore, and I only told Snape as much as was necessary for him to help you. I know what you're up to and I should be trying to stop you, but I'm not because…" A short pause. "I don't want you to hate me for it. I'd rather be your friend than worry about what's right and wrong."

"Hey, look." Draco pointed suddenly at the sky, toward the Quidditch pitch, where the match was still going on, and Scorpius turned to watch. Harry Potter and Cho Chang were side by side, closing in on the Golden Snitch.

Draco stood to get a better look; Scorpius followed. Even the other players seemed to have stopped everything to watch the two Seekers; then suddenly a Ravenclaw Beater sent a Bludger flying toward them; they both swerved to avoid it, and then—

"No way," Draco said immediately. "I don't believe this." Cho had caught the Snitch. The final score was three hundred to two hundred and ninety—Gryffindor had won the match, but the Cup went to Ravenclaw. "How did you know that would happen?"

"I didn't," said Scorpius, utterly shocked. He should have been happy to have won their bet, but he was worried that something else had somehow changed. "I'm probably more surprised than you are. I was certain Gryffindor would win the Cup."

"But you bet against me," Draco pointed out.

"I did. So I guess you owe me ten Galleons. And I will talk to the girl whom I definitely _don't fancy_without any complaint from you as well."

Draco did not keep his gold in a magically expanded pouch on his person, so they cheerfully headed down to the dungeons (although Draco was _acting_decidedly neutral, Scorpius suspected that seeing Gryffindor lose the Cup probably made him happy). Scorpius sat down on the bed once they reached the sixth-year boys' dormitory, which was presently empty, while Draco opened his trunk and searched for his own little bag of Galleons.

"What do you keep drinking?" Draco asked as Scorpius gulped down his regular dose of Polyjuice Potion. "Every time I see you, you're always drinking from that flask."

"I don't want to lie to you…" Draco stared at him intensely. "So you'll just have to accept that I can't tell you yet."

"How do I earn your trust, then?" Draco asked, handing him the ten Galleons.

Scorpius took his time adding the gold to his funds, carefully considering his response. His fingers brushed along the edge of tiny glass vial inside his pouch—liquid luck—and for a second he considered using it—one sip and he would know exactly what to say to make Draco listen… But it was a tiny vial, barely enough for one use, and the situation was not desperate yet.

His hand came back empty, and he said, "Admit that you won't kill Dumbledore and you want to back out. And you have to mean it and be willing to follow through."

Whatever cheerfulness was in the air a moment before seemed to vanish, only to be replaced by fear and dread. "If I fail, the Dark Lord will kill me," Draco whispered.

"You _will_fail. I told you, you're not a killer." He tried to keep his tone gentle but firm at the same time.

Draco closed his trunk and sat down next to him. "I'm not going to give up before I've even tried."

"What if it's too late after? If you choose to back out now, I can protect you." They both froze the instant that Scorpius finished speaking; the door had opened, and another boy entered the dormitory. Scorpius gave Draco a look that he hoped conveyed, _We'll talk later_, and he headed back up to the common room.

…

"Hey, you." _Not again_, Scorpius thought. Astoria.

He had not planned on talking to her, really, he had only said he would to keep Draco from developing any interest in the girl. He shifted his feet, feeling uneasy when he saw that she was alone; her two giggling friends were nowhere in sight.

"Hello," Scorpius greeted politely.

The common room was moderately full, with everyone back from the Quidditch match. As Slytherin was in fourth place, there was nothing to celebrate, so an unusual number of seats were empty.

"Sorry, I don't know your name," said Astoria.

He answered the implied question, "Evans."

"No first name?"

"Just Evans is fine."

An awkward moment later, Scorpius found himself following her to a sofa by the fireplace. His better judgement told him this was a bad idea, and he should make up an excuse to leave, but part of him could not give up the opportunity to get to know her.

He quickly found out that Astoria had an obsession with adventure stories.

"Have you read _The Sword in the Stone_?" she asked.

"That's a Muggle book."

She seemed to take his response as a 'yes' and mused, "I just wonder if Merlin really could transfigure himself into all those different creatures."

"It's just a story," said Scorpius.

"But don't you wonder?" she pressed, her eyes shining brightly.

"I wonder about a lot of things…" Scorpius muttered pensively. "I suppose Merlin's transfiguration skills could be one of them. Although White did have interesting ideas about magic, I don't think I would trust the word of any Muggle, particularly in a work of fiction."

She agreed with his logic, of course. They had so much in common that he could not stop smiling, but then he happened to glance across the room, locking eyes with Draco in the process.

"Listen, I've got a lot of homework to do," Scorpius said to Astoria. "I'll talk to you later."

Draco looked back as Scorpius followed him into the dungeon corridor, but he made no comment.

"Where are you going?" asked Scorpius.

"I was not aware that I wasn't allowed to leave the common room," Draco said. "Are you supposed to be tailing me now, too?"

"No, I was just curious."

"It's almost one o'clock; I'm going to the Great Hall for lunch. Crabbe and Goyle are probably there anyway." Draco was walking slightly ahead, but he kept glancing back, as though to check if Scorpius was still following him. "Crabbe has been… unusually inquisitive this year. I'd appreciate it if I didn't have to explain you."

"So, tell him to mind his own business. You don't owe either of them any explanation."

"It's not that easy. They know enough that they could do some damage if they thought I was a traitor. I've never had a problem with Goyle, but I wouldn't put it past Crabbe to turn on me."

Scorpius could not help but smirk; the fact that Draco was worried about Vincent Crabbe, of all people, definitely meant that he _was_ a traitor to the Death Eaters, whether he would admit it or not.

_- Draco -_

Evans—or whatever his name was—did not follow Draco to lunch. He was certain the boy was a half-blood or a blood-traitor, and had not planned to stop him, so Draco was too relieved to pay any attention to where he actually _was_ going.

When night fell, all Draco wanted to do was sleep. He was tired of being questioned and followed around. He was tired of the impossible task constantly interrupting every hopeful thought that entered his mind, and he was just plain tired.

He was not sleepy though. It was odd; he had had no difficulty falling asleep for the last two days, but now he was back to laying awake in his four-poster bed, the green silk curtains drawn around him.

He reached for his wand that was tucked under his pillow and cast a non-verbal _Lumos_. His parchment, too, was neatly folded and hidden alongside. He removed the topmost sheet, and held it up in front of him by wandlight.

It started at the number one hundred and forty-eight, and ended about half-way down at one hundred and sixty-three.

Draco wondered if mistrusting his friends had anything to do with why he could not sleep. He had never had anything more than allies—friends were for people like Potter, and he had never hated it more than he did now.

Evans was not in the Great Hall at breakfast time, and Draco did not ask himself why he bothered to notice, though he did not have much chance, as that was when Legolas, his owl, perched elegantly in front of his oatmeal bowl.

Draco untied the roll of parchment. Legolas stole a piece of toast from a neighbouring plate, and then flew off. No reply was needed anyway; it was not a request.

_No detention tonight. Meet me at the usual time, outside the place where everything is hidden. There's something I've been meaning to ask you. I can't put it off any longer._

_- Scorpius -_

_I need a place for us to talk, a place that's just for us_, Scorpius thought as he paced along the seventh-floor corridor._ I need a place that's comfortable. I need a place that's safe._

The room was a perfect circle. The hardwood floor was painted midnight blue, and there were silver markings along the edges that resembled compass points. There was a curved fireplace, and on either side, two sofas faced each other.

"Interesting meeting place," Draco commented, choosing the west sofa.

For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the fire. "I wanted to ask you about something as well," Draco said with a calculating look in his eyes.

Scorpius missed it, however; he was lying down and looking at the ceiling. "What is it?"

"That tea you gave me… you put something in it."

"What makes you say that?" Scorpius asked lightly.

"Thursday and Friday night, I fell asleep almost as soon as I got in bed; that isn't normal for me. I'm sure it was the tea, but I can't think of how… I watch you make it."

"It's in the water. I mix it in before you arrive," Scorpius explained, still looking at the ceiling.

"But then—"

"I drink it too. It's just a simple Sleeping Potion. If you need some for tonight, you can ask Severus."

Draco's worry diminished, then he muttered, "I'd rather not."

"But you don't mind if _I_ give it to you?" Scorpius taunted.

"Shut up, Evans."

"You know, I think I'm starting to like you." He sat up then, and caught Draco's eye for a second before he started to examine the elongated windows.

"What did you want to ask me?" said Draco.

The windows were enchanted, almost like portraits, showing scenes from Egypt, Rome, Paris, and Japan. Scorpius stared at a pyramid as he replied, "I just want to know why…"

"Why what?" asked Draco.

"Why did you use that curse on Harry?"

Draco scowled. "What do you mean? What would you expect me to do, _let_ him intrude on my privacy?"

They were both gazing intensely at each other now; the air in the room seemed to suddenly become very thick. "Why _that_ curse?"

"Because I_ hate _him! I wish the Dark Lord would just hurry up and kill him!"

Scorpius gaped; he immediately regretted asking the question. "You don't mean that," he said, more to reassure himself than to convince Draco.

Draco said nothing. Scorpius yearned to look away, but he forced himself to hold his gaze and continue, "People go to Azkaban for life for using that curse, with good reason. You could have driven him permanently insane."

"It's too bad I didn't then, he would have been easier to kill," said Draco.

Scorpius took several deep breaths, and began repeating to himself like a mantra, _This is not my father and he is not talking about Harry Potter_. It was the only way he could prevent himself from punching Draco really hard in the face.

"Would you rather I lie to you and pretend that I regret showing the _Chosen One_ what it feels like to lose for once?"

Scorpius silently shook his head; he felt calmer after the mantra, but he still did not trust himself to speak or move any other part of his body quite yet.

The fire crackled in the grate, and he realised now that he should have been more appreciative that Draco was at least being open about his feelings. That was why he asked, "Why do you hate him so much?"

Draco hesitated, staring at the floor, then he said, "It's _his_ fault that my father got landed in prison. If Potter didn't have to go and be a bloody _hero_ all the time—the Dark Lord blamed my father for what happened—that's why he chose me."

"I think you're giving Harry too much credit," Scorpius suggested. "Have you ever considered that maybe the root cause is actually Voldemort?"

Draco flinched. "Don't say the name!"

"Please, just think about it," Scorpius pressed. "If you had a dozen Death Eaters threatening to kill five of your friends, wouldn't you do whatever was necessary to protect them?"

"My father wouldn't have killed them—not if they just handed over the prophecy."

"Your father wasn't the only Death Eater there—"

"He was in charge—"

"Do you really think he could have controlled all of them, including Bellatrix Lestrange? The point is, I don't think Harry was trying to be a hero, the way you put it. I think it was Voldemort's fault that your father was there in the first place, and therefore it was _his_ fault that he got captured, and you ended up forced into accepting a task that you obviously don't want to do."

Draco slumped down across his sofa, clearly defeated. "I know, okay?" he said quietly. "It's just… easier for me to blame Potter."

"So you really don't regret it at all?" Scorpius asked, returning to the original topic. "Do you know what the Cruciatus Curse feels like?"

"I have an idea…" muttered Draco.

"So, based on your idea, if the situation had been reversed, do you think he would have been justified in casting it on you?"

"No," Draco said, clearly without thinking. "I don't eavesdrop on people," he added quickly. "What would you have done?"

Scorpius sighed. "That's irrelevant, but I would _not_ have used an Unforgivable Curse." A small round table suddenly materialised in front of him; there was a quill and a small bit of parchment on top. Scorpius wrote something down, then folded the parchment.

He handed it to Draco and said, "I think we're done for tonight, but I'm giving you homework. I'd like you to do this."

Draco unfolded the parchment, and the look on his face was a mixture between stunned disbelief and outrage. "Absolutely not," he said. "I'm not doing it. I can't—I'll get expelled!"

"You won't get expelled. I'll clear it with Snape so you can do it right before your Defence class tomorrow."

"No. I won't do it," Draco persisted, scowling.

"Don't, then," Scorpius said. "I didn't say you had to. It'd be against the whole point if I were to force you."

"I don't have to?" Draco questioned. "What if I don't?"

_I'll wonder how the hell you ever became my father_, Scorpius thought, but he said, "I'll be very, very disappointed."


	6. The Two Marauders

**Chapter 6: The Two Marauders**

_- Draco -_

It was with great dread that Draco walked toward the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom the following day, with the parchment containing his instruction crumpled in his hand. Potter had already arrived and sat down toward the back of the room, with both of his friends. They also happened to be surrounded by Gryffindors.

His legs felt like lead as he forced himself to approach the desk that Potter was occupying; it did not help that all three of them were openly staring in suspicion. He stopped directly in front.

"Potter," Draco stated.

"Malfoy," Potter acknowledged.

Draco started fidgeting. His gaze was fixed downward on the desk. Then Granger inserted, "What do you want?"

It was harder than he had anticipated. "I'm sorry." Potter raised an eyebrow. Draco continued, "I'm sorry about what I did to you. It was wrong of me, and…" Snape was watching him. "And I regret it. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I just… thought you should know."

Granger studied him, probably trying to determine if he was faking it.

Draco turned around without waiting for a response, and took his seat in the back row, haphazardly dropping the parchment on his desk. As Snape began the lesson, he smoothed it out and read with an odd sense of satisfaction, '_Apologise to Harry Potter._'

"I did what you asked," he said later as he sat down for detention.

Draco really hated Snape's office. The jars of creepy dead things along the walls were impossible to get used to, and the darkness gave it the dreary air of a prison cell.

"I know," Evans replied. "Why?"

Draco said as though it was obvious, "You told me to."

"I said you didn't have to." His tone was oddly accusing; one might think that Draco had done something wrong by following his instruction.

"I just did it. It doesn't matter why," Draco insisted. Truthfully, he was not sure himself exactly why he had done it.

"It does if you didn't mean it." Evans suppressed a sigh. "I guess I can't convince you to regret your actions… but I'm proud of you, anyway."

For some reason, Draco felt the need to explain his actions. "I was… frustrated, at the time," he said quietly. "And he had no right to be there. I wasn't thinking properly. All I wanted to do was cause him as much pain as possible. I couldn't control it."

"Just promise me you won't do it again, and I'll forgive you."

"You want me to promise not to use Unforgivable Curses?" Draco clarified.

"Yeah," Evans answered.

Draco shook his head. "You don't know when to quit, do you?" His tone was biting. "I'll admit that I never wanted to kill anyone, but I'm not going to back out and let Snape do it. He gave this job to _me_—_I'm_ the one who has to finish it, and as I've already told you, he will kill my whole family if I fail."

"He's not as powerful as you think," Evans muttered.

_- Scorpius -_

Draco spent his detentions over the following week catching up on homework, while Scorpius continued to research time travel by getting Snape to check books out of the library for him and disguise the covers. Draco's stubbornness did not fade.

On a rainy Sunday afternoon, Scorpius mastered the Patronus Charm.

"If you don't mind me asking," Snape then said, "what memory did you use?"

Scorpius hesitated to reply, "A fabricated one." Snape raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't really matter, does it? It's happy enough, and I didn't even need the Euphoria potion."

It was other people's happiness that worked—not a real memory, but a feeling. He was never going to admit that to anyone.

Snape commented, "Interesting shape."

"A coyote?" Scorpius said uncertainly.

"It's an arctic wolf," Snape corrected. "A coyote would have thinner fur and larger ears."

His Patronus work was still shaky, but it took Scorpius only a day to learn how to send messages well enough for Snape to decide that it was time to collect payment.

"Tomorrow night," Scorpius said hopefully. "After I meet with Dumbledore, then I'll tell you."

Snape's lip curled a small amount. "Are you trying to get out of our agreement?"

"No! Of course not," he insisted. "It's a really uncomfortable topic and it's almost dinner time and—" a short pause "—and I would just prefer to wait a little longer. Just one extra day, it won't hurt."

"No excuses," said Snape. "You will tell me now or I will turn you over to the Headmaster with the _truth_."

"You wouldn't," Scorpius whispered, not sounding sure.

"Do you really want to find out?"

Scorpius could hear the clock on the wall ticking. He took a deep breath and answered, "Have you ever heard of the Elder Wand?"

"If you are referring to the wand that is also called the Deathstick or the Wand of Destiny, I have. What does this have to do with Potter or the Dark Lord?"

"When Vol—"

"Do not say his name!"

"_Okay_, when the _Dark Lord_ used the Killing Curse against Harry, he was using the Elder Wand, but… at that point, Harry was the wand's true master. The Dark Lord didn't know."

He paused for a moment, but Snape made no comment. "They say… that wand doesn't work properly against its master," Scorpius continued. "So instead of killing Harry, the curse targeted the Horcrux that was inside him.

"There were other factors as well—something involving his mother's blood protection, and the fact that Harry intended to sacrifice himself."

Snape scrutinised him in silence, his expression as unreadable as ever, and his gaze never leaving Scorpius' cool grey eyes. They were empty; he was shielding his mind more aptly than usual.

Finally, Snape said, "Your answer is lacking certain details. How did the Dark Lord procure the Deathstick? How could Potter master it—the wand that changes hands through murder?"

"That's not important. I told you how he survived; our deal is done."

"It is important if what you intend to do prevents it from happening. If you are worthy of my trust, then there is no reason why you shouldn't tell me. As it is, I believe that you are intentionally concealing something."

Scorpius swallowed audibly. It was no use; he could not keep anything from Snape. He turned his head downward, and whispered to his shaking, pale hands, "So much relies on luck that there is almost no chance of it happening the same way again. It's very likely that too much has already been changed."

Snape sighed. "So this is why you wanted to wait until tomorrow." His voice was quiet. "You thought I would not be willing to assist you in lying to the Headmaster after learning of your intention."

Scorpius' head snapped up and his eyes grew wide with something that looked like fear. "You _have_ to help me! You swore to protect Draco—"

"—and I will. I agreed with your plan only because it is undoubtedly the safest way to proceed, in Draco's case. But I am not convinced that we are working toward the same goal where Harry Potter is concerned."

"You think I _want_ him to die?"

"No. I am merely not convinced that you're willing to do anything to prevent it."

Again, the feeling of guilt overcame his resolve. "I'm sorry," he muttered. Snape was right; he always was. He was only a child—young and careless—in need of a trusted, _experienced_ adult to guide him. He was suddenly glad that he had one.

"I'll help him, I promise. I don't want to fight in any war, and I don't think it's a good idea to try to change too much… I don't think I could stand feeling responsible if I was wrong about some critical detail… but I promise I'll help Harry to avoid unnecessary danger whenever I can."

The clock on the wall showed twenty minutes past five, but Scorpius was no longer thinking about dinner. When Snape did not respond, he continued, "You have to understand, I don't want to put Harry in danger. He's my best friend's father, my girlfriend's uncle—_my_ Harry is the only adult I can talk to about absolutely anything."

He opened his mouth as though to continue, but Snape held up a hand to silence him. He stood up and paced toward the opposite side of the desk and nearer to the door.

"I am more concerned that you intended to betray what little trust I have in you," Snape said evenly.

Scorpius turned his head and absentmindedly brushed his fringe aside as he looked up at Snape. His eyes were no longer empty; they were sincere. "I'm sorry. I didn't think. I told you I did not intend to go back on my word, and I didn't."

Snape glanced at the clock and said, "Inform Draco that his detention is postponed until seven o'clock. I do not want to see either of you before then."

Taking this as a dismissal, Scorpius stood up, but before reaching for the door, he asked, "Are you still going to help me with Dumbledore?"

"I have already told you I will," Snape said.

Scorpius nodded and grasped the doorknob, but Snape held him back with a hand on his shoulder. "Your Polyjuice."

The hand that was around the doorknob instantly relocated itself to his pocket. He drank the potion and waited for his appearance to completely change before exiting the office, again feeling very relieved that Snape was looking out for him.

_- Draco -_

Snape was sitting behind the desk when Draco entered his office at six o'clock that Tuesday. A stack of parchment lay in front of him, and he held a quill in his hand.

"Sit down," Snape commanded.

Draco obeyed, but as he took his usual seat in front of the desk, he asked, "Where's Evans?"

Snape put down his quill. "He will no longer be supervising your detentions. The Vanishing Cabinet is repaired."

"It is?" Draco replied, unsure of how he felt about it.

"Yes," Snape confirmed. "If you have homework to complete, you may do so." He turned back to his stack of parchment.

"I finished everything yesterday," Draco said with forced calm.

"Then you may sit quietly."

"For four hours?" His calm turned to a glare.

"Until I give you permission to leave," Snape corrected. "I never specified how long your detentions would be."

Draco reached into his bag sulkily and pulled out his Charms textbook—the only book he happened to have with him, deciding to read. He would probably have the entirety of _The Standard Book of Spells_ memorised before Snape let him go.

He ended up merely staring at the pages, however, lost in thought while the periodic scratching of Snape's quill mixed with the gentle crackling of the fire in the grate behind him. The cabinet was fixed… He was still angry that he had to accept help from Snape for that, and he still did not trust him not to interfere at the last moment, but he had to feel relieved that all he had left to do was get Dumbledore alone and defenceless.

His relief was soon replaced with fear, as the ultimatum repeated itself in his mind, a cold hiss that sounded frighteningly like the Dark Lord, _Kill or be killed_. He wished he did not have to make that choice.

_- Scorpius -_

At the top of a moving spiral staircase, hidden behind a stone gargoyle, there was an office as eccentrically decorated as its tenant. Inside, Scorpius was sitting in front of the large desk, wispy blond hair framing his pale face. Albus Dumbledore was behind the desk, in a large throne-like chair, and behind him, the past Headmasters and Headmistresses in the many portraits slept soundly. There was no one else in the circular room.

They were in the midst of a power struggle disguised as a discussion; Scorpius had the advantage at present. He drummed his fingers on his lap as he said, "Draco does not wish to kill, but he is equally scared and stubborn. He is determined to cling to even the smallest chance that—by some freak accident—he might actually succeed."

"I cannot protect him if he won't accept it," Dumbledore stated the obvious. "It would be no different from handing your brother over to the Ministry."

His _brother_—that was the lie that Snape had told for him. He had explained that Scorpius was the illegitimate son of Lucius Malfoy and Anastasia Greengrass, and had been tutored at home to prevent the scandal from being discovered.

"He _will_ accept protection from me. He simply doesn't believe that I have the power to keep him safe—and rightfully so, which is why I need your help. When the time comes and he realises he has failed, he'll make the right choice."

"I take it you have some plan already?" asked Dumbledore. Scorpius knew his strategy; Dumbledore was asking questions to determine exactly how much he knew, without having to reveal his own knowledge.

"I want to offer you a trade," he said.

Dumbledore looked intrigued. "A trade?" he repeated. "And what specifically do you have in mind?" He displayed only curiosity, his eyes twinkling behind the half-moon spectacles.

Scorpius took a deep breath, looked him straight in the eye, and said with a firmness in his voice, "There is a Horcrux at Hogwarts. One of Voldemort's. An item that once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw—the lost diadem, in fact. I know precisely where it is hidden."

Dumbledore froze for a split-second. There was no longer any twinkle in his eyes. Scorpius focused his thoughts as far away as possible from the location of the Horcrux.

"How do you know this?" Dumbledore's voice was barely above a whisper.

"I found the place by accident the second night I was here. I knew what it was—I could _feel_ it, but I don't know how to destroy it."

He took another deep breath, and before Dumbledore could reply, he continued his proposition, "I'll retrieve it immediately after your death, and the moment I see that my family is out of Voldemort's immediate clutches, I will give it to Harry Potter."

"You don't trust me," Dumbledore stated. His expression was inscrutable.

"No, sir, I regret to say that I don't. No point in pretending otherwise," Scorpius replied with a trace of a smirk.

"How do I know you will keep your word?"

"Isn't it enough that Severus trusts me? He knows me far better than even my own father, and we both have to agree that he wants Voldemort destroyed more than most people."

There was a short pause, then Dumbledore summarised, "So in exchange for your family's protection—and to be clear, this includes Narcissa?" Scorpius nodded. "You will give Harry Potter the Horcrux?" He nodded again. "Is there anything else you wish to tell me?"

Dumbledore watched the grey-blue of his eyes closely, but Scorpius was focused on only one thing. He voiced his final request, "You will need a new Secret-Keeper for the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, won't you? The Death Eaters, and Voldemort especially do not know that I exist, and if they somehow found out, they would never expect the Order to trust Lucius Malfoy's son. I promised Draco that _I_ would be the one to protect him, so I'm afraid I must insist on this matter."

…

Saturday was the first indication that summer was fast approaching. The sun was hot and shone brightly in a cloudless sky. Scorpius left the castle in the early morning, alone and undisguised. The Marauder's Map was in his hand as a safeguard, but he paid it little attention.

He sat down on the grass and set the map beside him. As the minutes passed, if he were looking at it, he would have seen twenty or so dots scattered in the Great Hall, and just a few wandering about the corridors, moving from one unknowable location to another. He would have seen Harry Potter descending the stairs from Gryffindor Tower, and perhaps had time enough to respond appropriately, but as it was, by the time Scorpius glanced over at the map, Harry had already reached the top of the marble staircase.

His first instinct was to reach for his flask of Polyjuice Potion—however little it would help, as Harry knew who he was anyway—and as his features took on their usual disguise, ideas began to run through his mind. Maybe Harry was only going to the Great Hall for breakfast, but if he was not… there was nowhere to hide.

As he thought this, he sprinted up toward the courtyard and did not check the map again until he stood pressed up against the castle wall, but when he did he saw that Harry was _not_ going to the Great Hall.

He drew his wand and whispered, "_Mischief managed_," knowing it probably wouldn't be—the two dots were already too close together. He had only one chance to buy more time. He stuffed the blank map into his pocket and waited for Harry to round the corner, then—

"_Stupefy_!"

But as he shouted the spell, Scorpius was hoisted into the air by his ankle and hung as though suspended by an invisible rope. The stream of red light he had cast shot well past its intended target.

"Potter, put me down _right now_!" Scorpius snarled, forgetting for a brief moment that he was speaking to _Harry_, not Albus.

"You stunned me before," accused Harry. "And you just tried to do it again!"

"Are you sure about that?" he challenged. "How could you possibly know who it was?" He was relying on the hope that Harry would not want to tell him about the map.

"The fact that you're not denying it helps."

The blood was rushing to his head; he could not think properly. He had expected a confrontation with Harry Potter to be uncomfortable _emotionally_, but not this. His wand was still in his hand, but he could not aim from his current position. "If you don't let me go…" he tried.

"You don't sound very threatening, _Evans_," Harry said. "Or is it Malfoy? Who are you?"

It was his own fault; he knew he had been getting increasingly reckless lately. His flask of Polyjuice had slid to the edge of his robe pocket—if it fell out… if Harry recognised what it was…

He could not think; hanging was getting more and more uncomfortable. "Put me down and then I'll tell you," Scorpius pleaded.

"Drop your wand."

Slowly, his fingers released the wooden handle, and it fell noiselessly to the grass below. He hoped it was not a mistake.

Harry picked up the wand, and still pointing his own at Scorpius, he cast the counter-curse. Scorpius fell hard onto the ground, and it took him a moment to recover his balance. Harry waited silently, wand still drawn.

Scorpius rose to his feet, attempting to quickly smooth out his robes and hair (the latter was unsuccessful). Identical green eyes stared at each other. He hoped that Harry did not spend much time looking in mirrors, not that it mattered much now; the explanation was inevitable.

"So," said Harry expectantly.

"So," Scorpius replied, obviously trying to evade the question.

"Who are you?" Harry asked again.

"I'm not your enemy."

"I can believe that—" Scorpius was surprised at how quickly this came; he attributed it to Luna "—but I still don't trust you—and you haven't answered my question."

"Let's walk. I have a feeling this is going to be a long conversation." He turned around and started to walk back toward the lake. Harry followed.

"My name, as you already seem to know, is Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy."

"And you're related to Draco Malfoy?" Harry supplied.

"Yes."

"How?"

They were walking slowly. The answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he was hesitant to give it; instead he said with no shortage of seriousness, "I'm trusting _you_, but no one else. You have to swear to me that you won't repeat anything I say."

He stared fiercely into Harry's eyes, trying to detect any sign that he might attempt to lie, despite knowing nothing of how to perform Legilimency.

"I'm not promising anything," Harry said. "But if I agree that your secrets should be kept, then I'll respect your wishes."

The words sounded so much like something _his_ Harry would say that Scorpius had no choice but to believe him. "Fair enough," he said. "Draco Malfoy is my father."

He waited for a response; Harry raised an eyebrow. "Your father? That's impossible."

Scorpius silently searched his mokeskin pouch for his Time-Turner, resenting Harry's distrust—it would have been quicker to use a Summoning Charm. After some awkward seconds, his fingers found the golden chain, and he pulled it out. "Are you familiar with this device?"

Harry looked at it, a knowing look in his bright eyes. "A Time-Turner."

"Do you believe me?"

"It's impossible; all the Ministry Time-Turners were destroyed last year." He was rationalising, as if he did not want to accept the truth. They had stopped walking mid-way between the castle and the lake.

"I'm not from last year, Potter. They made new ones. This isn't a Ministry Time-Turner, anyway; it's from Borgin and Burkes and cost nearly four thousand Galleons. My mother helped me get it," Scorpius explained, shoving the device back into his pouch, and continuing their abnormally slow walk.

"Who's your mother?" Harry asked automatically.

"It doesn't matter. I told you who I am—can I have my wand back?"

"So you went back in time," Harry surmised. "Why? What are you trying to change?"

"Nothing that concerns you, to be honest." Harry's expression was doubting.

"Harry, I'm not lying to you," Scorpius said, sounding annoyed. "I'm sorry about the one time I stunned you, but I really didn't have much choice. There are certain things that must _not_ be changed. I've been trying to avoid you because I know you have the Marauder's Map and I was afraid that you might do something like hold my wand hostage, forcing me to talk."

Harry did not comment on the fact that that was precisely what he _was_ doing; instead, he asked innocently, "How do you know about the Marauder's Map?"

Scorpius smirked. They were near the edge of the lake now; the surface shone in the sunlight. "I'm surprised you haven't asked me why I look nothing like a Malfoy," he remarked.

"I was getting to that," Harry admitted. "So if Draco is your father, how come you don't look alike? You can answer both questions in any order—I'm not letting you avoid the first one."

"I wasn't trying to…" Scorpius muttered, then answered, "I know about the map because I happen to be best friends with your younger son. He lent it to me." He showed him the blank-but-distinctive piece of parchment as proof, and Harry's eyes grew wide in understanding, as though many of his unanswered questions had just been explained at once.

"He also gave me a bit of his hair to use for Polyjuice Potion, since in actuality, I look exactly like my father," Scorpius finished.

"Polyjuice Potion?" said Harry. "This is what my son looks like?" He had a bewildered expression on his face. Scorpius did not blame him; it was a lot for anyone to take in.

"You hadn't noticed the similarities?" said Scorpius. "You don't look in mirrors much, do you?"

"No, they usually just insult me about my hair, so I mostly try to avoid them," Harry replied. He suddenly started walking faster, and then sat down in the shade of the beech tree. Scorpius joined him.

A moment passed, then Harry reached into his pocket and separated the shorter wand from the two. He handed it back, explaining, "So I'm not holding your wand hostage."

"Thank you," Scorpius said curtly, taking it.

"I know Malfoy—_Draco_ is up to something, and I'm sure he's a Death Eater," Harry said. "You might as well tell me what's going on."

"You're right on both counts, I can tell you that much. He didn't _choose_ to be a Death Eater though, you have to understand—when Voldemort tells you to do something, you do it, or you die."

"What's Voldemort making him do?" Harry pressed.

Scorpius turned his head to gaze at him, appraisingly. It was definitely Harry Potter, he thought. Green, almond-shaped eyes, exactly the same as his best friend's, behind distinctive round glasses, and the famous lightning bolt scar peaking out under messy black hair—there was no mistaking him. There was also no mistaking the fact that he was sixteen. How much would change in twenty years? Could this _boy_ possibly understand? Dumbledore didn't think so…

"Harry, Dumbledore—" Scorpius started. There was a pause in which time seemed to stand still. "Dumbledore is dying."

Silence. The shade of the tree started to feel too cool—or maybe he just could not stand sitting still anymore. He wanted to walk, maybe jump in the lake and drown amongst the grindylows and never have to worry about anything again—no, Scorpius was not a coward.

"No," Harry finally whispered, more to himself than the boy beside him. "No, he can't be."

"He doesn't want you to know," Scorpius said gently. "You've seen his hand. He told you about the curse on the ring, didn't he?"

"No, you're lying! Why wouldn't Dumbledore tell me?" His hands were in fists, and his knuckles had turned white.

"Harry, look at me," Scorpius commanded, causing Harry to meet his eyes on impulse. "I don't know why he didn't tell you, but _I'm_ telling you because I think you have a right to know, and I trust you not to take it badly or do anything rash to try to save him." He dropped the firmness in his tone and continued more kindly, "He will be dead in just over a week from now. There's nothing anyone can do to prevent it."

Unable to tolerate the tension anymore, Scorpius stood up, and when Harry did not follow, he grasped his shoulders and pulled him to his feet as well. "Let's go inside and have breakfast, okay?"

Harry nodded solemnly, and they walked back up to the castle in silence.

They ate in the kitchens. Neither needed to lead the way; they both seemed to intuitively agree that a Gryffindor—Harry Potter especially—and a Slytherin dining together in the Great Hall had absolutely no chance of going unnoticed.

"You said just over a week," Harry said between bites of toast and egg. "What day exactly? So I can be prepared."

"Agreed; you should be prepared." A hundred house-elves busied themselves around them; Scorpius kept checking to be sure that none were trying to eavesdrop. "Next Wednesday, the fourth of June, at night."

He stopped eating for a moment, and said, "Harry, you have to understand—no matter what happens—Severus Snape is on our side. He's not working for Voldemort."

Instantly, this prompted Harry to temporarily set aside his food as well and ask, "What's going to happen?"

"I don't know all the details. You never fully talked about where you and Dumbledore went that night. He's going to take you with him somewhere—to find a Horcrux, most likely. It'll happen right when you get back."

"What about Snape?"

"He's on our side."

"You're avoiding the question."

Scorpius took a deep breath and answered carefully, "He will—on Dumbledore's orders—end his suffering."

There was a short silence as Harry grasped the meaning, then Scorpius said, "Another thing… Before you leave with Dumbledore, tell Hermione and Ron to keep watch over the Room of Requirement. Get anyone else from the D.A. as well. Use the coins." He showed Harry the fake Galleon that he kept in the pocket of his trousers.

"You still haven't told me what Draco's been up to," said Harry. "He's going to do something that night."

"I've told you all that you need—or have any right—to know. Draco is not who you need to be concerned about; I'm already taking care of him."


	7. Felix Felicis

**Chapter 7: Felix Felicis**_  
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_- Scorpius -_

The dormitory was empty, except for the two of them. Draco was lying down with his hands behind his head, staring up at the top of his four-poster bed. Between their two beds there was a window like an aquarium. Occasionally, the giant squid in the lake beyond would swim past, but this was such a familiar sight that neither of them stopped to take notice.

"Are you feeling all right?" Scorpius asked, breaking a long silence.

"What kind of question is that?" said Draco, glancing sideways at him.

"Just wondering…"

Draco turned his head back to its previous position and answered, "Same as always."

Scorpius was waiting. It was _the_ day, and the clock was ticking. He kept slipping his hand into the pocket of his trousers, where the fake gold Galleon was hidden, waiting for the indication that Harry had left with Dumbledore.

"You know I have to do it soon," Draco said.

_But you have no idea _how_ soon_, Scorpius added in his head. Aloud, he said, "I wish you'd stop saying it like that. You don't have to."

"I wish _you_ would stop acting like it's so simple."

"I'm not _acting_ like it's simple, Draco—I _know_ what's going on. I can help you if you'll just let me." He knew his words were redundant; they'd had the same conversation over and over, and still Draco's conviction never changed, but this was his last chance to try reasoning with him. "I know you're scared, but you don't have to be a Gryffindor to be brave."

Draco sat up suddenly, staring at Scorpius with betrayal hinted on his face; he seemed to had just realised something. "You sold me to Dumbledore."

Scorpius met his eyes in alarm. All he could think to respond was, "No."

"How else would you get a bed here? You talked to him."

His voice shook when he replied, "I sold him something he doesn't already have, in exchange for something that I need to offer you the ultimate protection. If I had sold you out, do you really think you'd be here right now?"

"What do you mean, something he _doesn't_ already have?" They were both sitting in precisely the same pose, like mirror images of each other.

"He knows about your mission. He's known all along." Scorpius spoke calmly now. With the change of subject, the anxiety he felt from Draco's accusation of betrayal seemed to vanish as abruptly as it had come.

"Then why isn't he trying to stop me?" Draco wondered.

"Because that's _my_ job?" said Scorpius, half-heartedly smirking. "Honestly, I don't know. Why don't you go to his office now and ask him before he leaves the school? There's a possibility that I'm wrong, but I believe he plans to leave tonight."

In the brief silence that followed, the giant squid crossed paths with their window, unnoticed, for the thirteenth time since Draco had returned from his detention that night.

"And you're tipping me off, knowing how I'll use the information? Why?" Draco asked.

"Because I'm sick of all the back-and-forth arguments and mistrust between us. I want to get this over with."

Draco smirked. "Well, I don't need you to tell me, anyway. If he leaves tonight—or any time—I'll know."

Scorpius returned his smirk. "I know you will. You think I'm not aware that you have Madam Rosmerta under the Imperius Curse?"

Draco's smirk disappeared immediately. "You didn't—"

"Tell anyone? No."

It was then that Scorpius felt it—as he slipped his hand into his pocket for the umpteenth time, the coin suddenly grew hot. He had not realised the extent of how worried he had been until that moment, when relief flooded through him from the knowledge that he had not done enough damage to cause the date to be changed.

"Tomorrow is your birthday, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I suppose it is," Draco said, uninterested. He did not know that Dumbledore had left yet; there was still time before Rosmerta would see him in Hogsmeade. "You know, friends typically get each other birthday presents."

Scorpius laughed. "There are times when I feel like I don't know you at all," he said. "Then you go and say something like that."

"But I may not see you tomorrow…"

"I'm fairly confident that you will, don't worry. If we're getting each other presents, you ought to remember that my birthday is the sixth of October."

"I'll remember, but this is a pointless conversation. If I fail, I might be dead before midnight, and if I succeed, we might never see each other again." Draco's lighthearted tone was a poor attempt at masking his ever-increasing fear as the minutes continued to pass.

The room was quiet for a moment, then Scorpius subtly turned his back to Draco. There was little time left now, and he had exhausted all other options... He picked up his wand from the bedside table and silently summoned the minuscule vial of what looked like liquid gold. He uncorked it with shaking hands, hoping he would not later regret using the potion, and then he took a carefully measured gulp.

Draco was lying down on his bed again, with his eyes now closed; he had not noticed anything.

Slowly, an exhilarating feeling overtook him, and Scorpius was confident for the first time. Any thought that Draco might kill, or that anyone other than Dumbledore would die in the next three hours suddenly seemed foolish.

He allowed himself to smile as he lied down on his stomach, arms folded across his pillow. It was going to be a long night, Scorpius knew, but for now he could do nothing but wait—a nap was the best idea.

He vaguely heard Draco rummaging for something in his trunk, but his comfort was fully interrupted only when Draco announced, "I'm going."

"Hold on," Scorpius said, standing up to face him. "Drink this first. It's Felix Felicis."

Draco stared at the tiny bottle in his hand. "You're giving me liquid luck?"

Scorpius knew what he must be thinking; he remembered the words from his Potions class:_ one drink, and you will find that all your endeavours tend to succeed_…

"Yes," said Scorpius. "Three hours worth, on the condition that you drink all of it right now. Consider it a birthday present."

Draco was still hesitant to take the potion. He seemed unable to believe that there was no obvious catch. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I know you'll make the right decision," Scorpius said with a smirk.

"It's half full."

"So it is."

"You've already taken some."

"Indeed I have." Another redundant conversation; it was time to end it. "Honestly, Draco, I'm concerned for your safety. I'm giving it to you so I can nap in peace for the next half-hour, knowing you'll be all right no matter what you choose to do."

Draco finally took the vial, but still he did not drink. "You're not going to try to stop me?"

"Were you expecting me to? Or hoping I would?" said Scorpius. "You're seventeen—I'm not going to treat you like a child. If you want to back out, I've told you many times you only need to say so."

Draco downed the remainder of the golden potion.

"How do you feel?" asked Scorpius.

Draco handed back the empty vial, and looked down at the floor for a few seconds, then said, "I'm going."

All the confidence that Scorpius felt was instantly replaced with panic. Before Draco could reach for the door, he grabbed him by the shoulders and pinned him against the wall.

"What are you—"

"You're not fighting the effects, are you? You really feel like going through with it is the best idea?"

"Yes, and I'm running out of time! I need to go _now_!"

Scorpius released his grip and as Draco exited the dormitory, his feeling of confidence returned. He wondered if Felix Felicis was supposed to cause mood swings.

_- Draco -_

Draco did not think about the task—the murder that he was supposed to commit. That was for later, he knew. All that was important now was putting his original plan into action before Dumbledore returned to the school.

With the Hand of Glory as his light, he made his way up the castle to the seventh floor. Filch, Mrs Norris, and anyone else who might be on guard were nowhere in his path. He met no challenges until he had reached the Room of Requirement, where—perhaps fortunately, in some way that he did not immediately understand—he could not prevent Potter's friends from catching a glimpse of him before he used up half of his supply of Instant Darkness Powder to safely enter the room.

He had already pressed his Dark Mark back in the dormitory, before he had taken the lucky potion, and knew that his master understood that the task would be accomplished tonight. Somewhere in London, in a dingy shop in Knockturn Alley, his fellows would be waiting.

He found the familiar cabinet and activated it, knowing it would function perfectly, just as Snape had promised—and it did. Six black-robed figures emerged, all hooded and masked except for the last one—the ferocious werewolf, Fenrir Greyback.

Draco played his part as they went over the plan, and he left the room first, tossing the last of his Darkness Powder into the air. As the Death Eaters followed, each clinging to each other's robes, forming a chain behind him, he suddenly felt the desire to non-verbally fire random, loud curses at the walls around them, taking care not to actually hit anyone.

He did cast the strongest Body-Bind Curse he could on Greyback, however—the one he had _not_ invited. The Death Eaters would blame Potter's friends for that, assuming they had foolishly attacked regardless of being unable to see their enemies, and managed one lucky shot.

Dumbledore's Phoenix lot soon caught up with them, and the fight began, but Draco did not participate.

The scene was chaotic. Multicoloured flashes and beams of light bounced against the walls, lighting up the corridors like deadly fireworks. He had never considered that the Order might get in the way when he had devised the plan, but strangely, it did not bother him that they were. He stayed on the sidelines, waiting. They were still moving toward the Astronomy Tower, though it was unclear which side had the advantage.

He saw one of the Death Eaters break from the fight and head up the spiral staircase, and Draco knew it would not be much longer before he had to make his move.

All of the Death Eaters had lost their masks. Amycus Carrow was making sport of trying to hit the Weasley girl with the Cruciatus Curse, while his sister duelled her brother and Longbottom at once. It was almost a humourous sight, Draco noticed. The Weasleys were dodging everything, like a choreographed dance, and though Longbottom's movements were nowhere near as graceful, they managed to protect him in the process.

He was not concerned. He turned away and caught sight of Gibbon—the Death Eater who had gone up to set the trap—lying incapacitated near the stairs to the tower, and he dashed past him, unnoticed up to the top. His wand held at chest level, he burst through the door and shut it firmly behind him.

"Good evening, Draco."

He turned to face the old man; Dumbledore looked weak—defenceless. He glanced around, and though there were two brooms, no one else seemed to be there. He was safe at last.

"Good evening, sir."

If he had not been under the effects of liquid luck, he might have found the polite greeting odd, considering that he was supposed to kill this man. Despite the circumstances, however, it seemed the right thing to say.

"What brings you here?" asked Dumbledore. He stood against the ramparts, under the greenish light from the Dark Mark in the sky, and though his face was pallid and he looked everything like a dying man, he showed no sign of distress.

"Waiting for a friend," Draco said, for it had just crossed his mind that Evans would soon come to fulfil his promise.

"Ah. Your brother, I presume?"

"Brother? Yeah, I suppose." The implication did not fully register in his mind; he only knew that it was best to agree.

"Would you care to explain to me why the Dark Mark is set above this tower? Am I to believe that someone has been killed?" asked Dumbledore, still betraying no hint of worry or panic.

"No one's been killed," answered Draco. "There are Death Eaters here—I let them in—but they met some of your guard. They're having a fight down below. I don't think they're doing very well though."

"I see," said Dumbledore. "So you found a way to let them in, did you? How did you do it?"

The words flowed from him naturally. With no thought as to why, he told Dumbledore about the Vanishing Cabinet he had been mending all year, the twin at Borgin and Burkes and the passage they formed, and what he was supposed to do. Dumbledore nodded in understanding, and slumped further down the ramparts.

"But there were times," said Dumbledore, "weren't there, when you were not sure that you would succeed in mending the cabinet, and you resorted to crude and badly judged measures such as sending me a cursed necklace that was bound to reach the wrong hands… poisoning mead that there was only the slightest chance I might drink…"

Draco felt himself blushing from the reminder of his previous failed attempts. "I suppose you knew I was behind that all along?" he said. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I was only trying to do what the Dark Lord told me—he said he'll kill me if I fail."

The sounds of the battle down below were growing louder—closer. He was sure that there was not much time left, but it seemed important to say, "I didn't really mean to curse Potter either, I just sort of lost control. I meant it when I apologised."

"I take it by your sincere confession that you do not intend to kill me?" asked Dumbledore.

Draco grinned sheepishly. His wand was in his hand, but it was held casually at his side, not pointed at anything in particular. The idea that he might be able to complete the task was laughable. "I couldn't even if I wanted to," he admitted.

In another universe where he was not so lucky, Draco might have been panicking at this moment, terrified that he had failed and would soon pay the price with his life. As it was, however, he felt rather secure.

Dumbledore was smiling. The shouts and bangs below were louder than ever; it sounded as though the fight had moved to the spiral staircase, then—

He stood frozen for a second as running footsteps approached, and then the door burst open. A mediocre Disillusionment Charm faded, and Evans, his hair in its usual mess and green eyes determined, glanced around for a moment, then spoke, "You didn't disarm him."

"No," said Draco, for the first time paying attention to the fact that Dumbledore was holding a wand.

"You didn't even try," said Evans. Dumbledore gave him a curious glance, but did not interrupt.

"No," Draco answered again.

"I'll make sense of this later," Evans thought aloud. "We haven't got much time. Snape's coming." He looked at Dumbledore, implying that this piece of information was for him as well.

"You can really protect my family?" asked Draco, turning away from Dumbledore to meet the other boy's eyes. "You have a plan?"

Evans smiled. "It's already taken care of. I've had a plan for weeks—I've told you at least a dozen times. Are you finally ready to believe me?"

"It's not like I have much choice," Draco said, "but you'd better keep your promise."

Evans cast a Disillusionment Charm on both of them, and then pulled Draco back through the door, where the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix were still fighting, but they slipped past unnoticed and unscathed, all wayward curses barely missing them.

They ran through the shortcut to the second floor—the charm fading partway—and down to the dungeons. Evans stopped as they turned the corner into a familiar corridor.

Granger and the Lovegood girl were standing in front of Snape's office, the former looking stunned at their appearance, and the latter bored.

"Luna," Evans said.

"Hello," she greeted airily. Granger shot her a look of confusion.

"Listen, I've got to go back and find Harry—"

"Harry? _Where's_ Harry?" Granger interrupted. Draco looked at Evans, equally confused.

"It's okay, Hermione," said Luna. "We can trust him. He's on our side." Granger still looked sceptical.

"Could you look after him for me?" Evans finished.

"Oh, all right," Luna replied.

"Stay here until I come back, okay? I won't be long," Evans said to Draco.

He nodded in agreement, not giving the request much thought. Once Evans had left, he slid against the wall and sat on the floor, suddenly not feeling completely safe.

"Luna, are you sure—" Granger said, looking at him suspiciously.

"Oh, yes. He knows what's going to happen, because he's from the future."

He wondered if the potion was starting to wear off already; he had no idea how much time had passed since he had taken it—to him, it felt like a lifetime ago.

_- Scorpius -_

"Why didn't you tell me it was a _fake_?" Harry nearly shouted as they made their way through the dungeon corridor. He was squeezing Ginny's hand violently.

"Must have slipped my mind," said Scorpius in a more casual tone.

Hermione perked up on sight and wasted no time asking, "Harry, what happened?"

Harry seemed to suddenly force himself to calm down as he answered, "Dumbledore… he's—he's dead."

Hermione gasped and looked to Ginny for confirmation, but no one said anything.

"Come on, we need to go to the hospital wing," said Harry. "Everyone else is there."

Hermione and Luna began to follow. Draco stood up hesitantly; Scorpius was the only one looking at him.

"You come with me," he said, then turned to Harry, who still looked rather upset. "Can I trust you to explain what happened to the others?" he asked. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you everything, but it had to happen this way."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "You just better hope they believe it, _Evans_."

They left the dungeons together, and then, before they went their separate ways upon reaching the Entrance Hall, Ginny for the first time spoke directly to Scorpius. "It wasn't a bad night for the Order." She sounded almost as if she were thanking him. "One Death Eater dead, two of them captured—including Greyback—and no one on our side is seriously hurt."

"Greyback? What happened to him?" asked Scorpius.

"Tonks found him in a Body-Bind outside the Room of Requirement," said Ginny.

Scorpius looked at Draco for a second, then turned back to her. "He didn't attack Bill Weasley?"

"He didn't attack anyone. We got Yaxley too; they're being held in a classroom for now." She smiled slightly, though there was sadness behind it. "It's the best that could have happened, given the circumstances."

"But Dumbledore—"

"Ginny's right," Harry cut off Hermione, and Scorpius suddenly realised that she was the only one there who did not know that Dumbledore's death had been planned. She stared at Harry incredulously. "I'll explain when we get to the hospital wing—I don't want to have to go over it more than once—but what happened tonight was actually pretty—"

"Lucky?" Scorpius supplied.

He nodded, and prepared to head up the marble staircase.

"Harry—" Scorpius started, suddenly remembering another promise. "You need to move away from the Muggles as soon as possible. Don't wait for your birthday—don't even wait for July."

Harry gave him a foreboding look as he took in the meaning, then he nodded, and led the girls up the stairs, while Scorpius took Draco's arm and pulled him through the oak front doors.

Outside the castle, students congregated at the base of the tallest tower, where the Dark Mark still glittered above, but Scorpius steered Draco away, toward the gates.

"Where are we going?" asked Draco.

"Headquarters," Scorpius said.

"What about my mother? You said you'd protect her."

"I sent a message to the Order almost an hour ago. If everything went smoothly, she'll already be there."

They were silent for a few minutes, then Draco said quietly, "You're really from the future?"

Scorpius did not reply until they had stopped just beyond the grounds. "Yes, I am. Don't let go of me."

He tightened his grip on Draco's arm, and Apparated directly onto the front step of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, just inside the Fidelius Charm's protection. He drew his wand and tapped the silver knocker on the door, opening it, and led Draco inside. The portrait of Mrs Black eyed them, eerily silent, as they walked down the darkened hallway.

It was quiet throughout the house.

"There's no one here," Draco said, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

Scorpius pretended to ignore the implication behind his statement, and led him into the bedroom on the second floor that was almost entirely unrecognisable as the room that would one day belong to Albus Potter. Draco sat down on one of the beds and watched Scorpius expectantly as he rummaged in his mokeskin pouch.

"Here," said Scorpius, handing Draco a vial of purple potion. "Snape gave me that for you. It's a Potion for Dreamless Sleep."

"Snape? He's a Death Eater! He—didn't he—"

"Kill Dumbledore? Of course he did. Someone had to. We can trust him; he's on our side. Drink the potion and go to sleep; I'll take care of everything."

"Where's my mother? You said she'd be here!"

Scorpius suppressed a sigh and sat down beside him. "I sent two highly skilled Aurors to get her and bring her here safely. I'm doing everything I can to help you. Please, Draco. I want to know that you're all right so I can worry about your family. I promise everything will be better tomorrow."

At the mention of tomorrow, Scorpius suddenly became aware of time. It was past midnight; Draco was seventeen. He felt his watch start to vibrate, indicating that his Polyjuice was running out, but he still had a few more minutes of luck.

Draco began to strip off his robes, dropping them on the floor, then he finally gulped down the potion and fell asleep in the bed almost instantly.

Back to his normal appearance, Scorpius adjusted the blanket over him, then turned to leave the room—

"Another Malfoy, eh?"

Scorpius whirled around in surprise. The voice came from the usually-empty portrait on the wall.

"Phineas," he acknowledged. "Certainly what's going on at Hogwarts is more interesting than here right about now?"

"Indeed it is," the painting of Phineas Nigellus answered. "Acting Headmistress McGonagall has requested that I deliver a message from Harry Potter." His tone made it clear that he was not fond of being honour-bound to follow an order from a teenager.

"And what is that message?" asked Scorpius.

"He will join you within the week, and refuses to share his room with Draco Malfoy."

"I don't know which room is his," Scorpius said.

"I believe it is this one." Phineas turned into his frame and vanished without another word.

Deciding to worry about Harry's request later, Scorpius left the room to wait for Mad-Eye and Kingsley, suddenly feeling sick with the knowledge that no amount of Felix Felicis would have been enough to ensure the success of that part of the plan.

They arrived within ten minutes. Narcissa Malfoy was not with them.

"What happened?" asked Scorpius.

"Too late, boy," growled Mad-Eye. His bright blue magical eye started to examine Scorpius, increasing his discomfort.

"We left as soon as you sent the message," said Kingsley in his slow, deep voice. "The wards are completely impenetrable. It looks like Voldemort is using Malfoy Manor as his Headquarters.


	8. Pt2: A Grim Old Place

**PART TWO**

**Chapter 8: A Grim Old Place**_  
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_- Scorpius -_

Scorpius could not stand to face the two men in the hall. He moved as quick as he could without running through the musty old house, up a flight of stairs, and dived onto the first bed he came across, burying his face in the pillow.

He wanted to cry. He strained his eyes, trying hard to make tears come out—it felt appropriate to cry—but he could not. He had always tried to be brave—ever since he was small and his Aunt Daphne had joked that his father had been a coward—he had tried to fix his problems instead of crying about them, but this time there was absolutely nothing that he could do.

The floor on the landing creaked, but Scorpius paid it no attention; he had not even bothered to close the door.

"Listen, I'm going to have to get back to the Muggle Prime Minister…"

"Then go!" Scorpius said to his pillow. Then, realising he was talking to the future Minister for Magic and had not meant to be rude, he turned his head to face Kingsley and muttered, "Sorry."

Kingsley hesitated in the doorway; Scorpius sat cross-legged on the bed and stared at the floor.

"I should have been more careful," he said quietly. "I _knew_ he had used Malfoy Manor as his Headquarters, I just didn't know _when_! I didn't check. I figured Snape would have known…"

"If Dumbledore didn't know, there's no way you could have. It must have just—"

"You don't understand." He knew Kingsley was going to suggest that Voldemort must have just moved into the manor, and it was probably true, but that did nothing to comfort him. "I lied to Dumbledore. Draco is not my brother, he's my _father_. I knew this was supposed to happen. If Voldemort kills his mother… he'll never forgive me…"

"Draco is your father?" Kingsley repeated, betraying no obvious emotion.

Scorpius nodded; his gaze still did not leave the floor.

"Why didn't you tell Dumbledore?"

"I was afraid he might try to use me. But Harry knows, and he's probably told everyone else by now…" Then, it dawned on him that Dumbledore might not have been his only problem—there was nothing to stop the rest of the Order from trying to use him—Mad-Eye especially frightened him already, and he would not put it past the battle-worn ex-Auror to slip Veritaserum into his morning pumpkin juice.

"Scorpius, is it?" asked Kingsley.

He nodded, and finally looked up into Kingley's dark eyes, but it was not a show of confidence; he was searching for any hint of deception or plotting. There was none.

"No one is going to try to use you." His voice carried a gentle reassurance; Scorpius wanted to believe him. "But I need to get going, I should have been back over an hour ago. If there's any problems, don't hesitate to contact me, or anyone in the Order—well, maybe not Mad-Eye…"

Scorpius smirked slightly; it was obvious that Mad-Eye did not trust him.

He sat on the bed in thought for a while after Kingsley had left. He did not want to sleep; he didn't think he had any right to. He wanted to contact Snape, but he only knew the basic spell; he could not cast it so that Snape would only get the message if he was alone.

Without thinking of what he might do, Scorpius stood and walked silently up the stairs to the other room, where Draco was sleeping soundly, nightmare-free. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and it was only then that he fully understood how terrified he had been that everything might go wrong.

He left the room, and started pacing around the house. It was so quiet; even the portraits made no sound. Everything had changed over the years. He wondered nostalgically what Harry would do with the shrunken house-elf heads that were mounted on the wall. And Mrs Black's portrait… It was only a few years before Hermione would finally figure out that the only way to circumvent the Permanent Sticking Charm was to rip out the wall and build in a new one.

He found himself in the drawing room, and his gaze was drawn to the old tapestry of the Black family tree. He felt an odd feeling, as he examined the portions that had been blasted off. He knew only two of the names that belonged there: Harry's godfather, Sirius, who had left him this house, and his own great-aunt, Andromeda. Even to this day Scorpius had never met her.

Pure-blood history was so tainted, and yet he had always been proud of being pure-blood _because_ of all the history. He could not imagine what it felt like to be disowned for having different beliefs, or for choosing to marry a Muggle-born. It felt odd, knowing that if he had been on that tapestry, and Walburga Black had still been alive, she would have blasted him off without a second thought.

His musing was broken suddenly; a silver light flashed through the drawing room window, and as Scorpius quickly turned around, it formed into a doe.

"_Your family is safe, do not contact_."

He sank into the sofa, barely noticing as the Patronus dissolved into nothing. Snape's message left so much unanswered. How does one define _safe_? In hiding somewhere else, away from Voldemort? Or simply alive—and if so, for how long?

He wished he could just go home, where there was no more war, where his friends and family were all happy and safe… safe in _every_ sense of the word. He started to explore the house again in effort to distract himself. The curtains were drawn over the windows, but he was sure it was almost dawn; he would need to tell Draco everything soon.

…

"You okay?"

Draco blinked a few times, and ran a hand through his hair, still recovering from the last few minutes of the potion-induced sleep. "My mother?" he asked.

"She's safe," Scorpius answered.

"Where?"

"I don't know. There was… a slight complication. I'm sorry."

Draco pushed himself up to a sitting position. "What do you mean?" His tone was cold—accusing.

Scorpius weighed his options. It had been a few hours since Snape had sent the message, and he was sure there would have been another one if anything had changed. "You-Know-Who has taken Malfoy Manor as his Headquarters. We didn't know until last night."

"You said you could protect her. You promised. _I trusted you_." His eyes were wide and watery; he seemed to be on the verge of tears.

Scorpius felt no different. He wished he did not have to be the stronger one, and that he could cry too. He tried to think of something comforting to say, or some way to convince Draco that there were more urgent matters to discuss—there was little time before the Polyjuice Potion would wear off, and he was not going to take it again.

"Get dressed. I need to tell you something."

Draco fell back against the pillow and turned his head to face the wall. "No. I don't care, I won't listen."

The air was heavy; Scorpius heard a muffled sob. _Of course he would feel betrayed_, he thought. _But he's… being a selfish brat_. Draco did not know that they _both_ had family to worry about—the _same_ family.

"I'm going to tell you whether you listen or not, because—" he checked his watch "—in seventeen minutes, my Polyjuice Potion is going to wear off, and before that happens, I need you to know exactly who I am."

Draco slipped his hand underneath the pillow; Scorpius tensed, knowing what he was reaching for. The hand came back empty, and he sat up again and snarled, "Where's my wand?"

Scorpius did not answer.

Draco's bloodshot and puffy eyes narrowed dangerously. "Give me back my wand!"

"No. You'll get it back when you calm down."

Draco's hands curled into fists, and he gave Scorpius a frustrated glare. "I'm stronger than you," Scorpius said, as a precaution. "If you try to fight me, you'll only get yourself hurt. I don't want that."

Scorpius stood. "There's nothing we can do about your parents right now. Snape says they're safe—at the very least, that means they're still alive."

"For now," Draco added, as fresh tears began to form. He brushed them away, looking down onto the blanket.

"Get dressed," said Scorpius, forcing comfort and gentleness in his tone. "We'll talk. Then I'll make breakfast. I can cook a little."

To his relief, Draco finally pushed the blanket off and crawled out of bed, then pulled on his robes. Scorpius checked his watch. _Eleven minutes left_. They sat down on the bed.

"I suspected Polyjuice Potion," Draco said. A small hint of a smirk formed on his pale face, apparently from gratification at having his suspicion confirmed. "So who are you, then?"

"That's a very direct question for someone who didn't care about five minutes ago," Scorpius said.

"I thought you were going to tell me regardless of whether I care."

"My name is Scorpius Malfoy. You are my father."

Draco would not look at him. Silence stretched for an eternity, and Scorpius felt the same feeling that he had when he had told Harry that Dumbledore was dying—the same fear that he would not be able to handle the reaction; the same instinct to run before it came. Again, he reminded himself that he was not a coward.

"You're fucking lying," Draco finally said, like he was stating a hard fact. "You're not—no—you're just not—you're lying." He paused for a moment. "You're not lying, are you?"

Scorpius was reminded of a scene from Star Wars and felt tempted to tell Draco to search his feelings. He checked his watch again, smirking. "I suppose you'll know in about six minutes." He stood. "I'll be in the kitchen."

He barely reached the threshold of the bedroom when Draco started to follow, and asked abruptly, "You really are a pure-blood?"

"Would you be disappointed if I said yes?" He leaned against the door frame, tilting his head.

It took Draco a considerably long time to say, "I'm not going to answer that."

_You don't have to_. "My mother is Astoria Greengrass."

"Arranged marriage?" asked Draco.

"Mostly. I don't know all the details."

"The Greengrasses are respectable enough, I suppose. Moderately wealthy. Cautiously neutral, as far as allegiances go. Daphne would have been the better choice, but… there's no Dark Lord in your time? He was defeated?" He suddenly sounded hopeful.

"Dead and buried, years before I was born."

"I suppose we would have had to compromise, then."

Scorpius closed his eyes suddenly; the last six minutes of his Polyjuice Potion were up.

Draco stared at him for what seemed like a lifetime—he looked like he was in shock. They were almost perfectly identical, except that Draco's facial features were slightly more angular, and Scorpius had longer hair, a darker shade of blond.

Scorpius was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He muttered something about making breakfast, then headed down the stairs.

"Why exactly do you know how to cook? Don't we have house-elves?" Draco asked, watching him.

Scorpius smiled, glad that things were apparently back to normal. "It's a useful skill. I only know how to make breakfast though." He flipped two eggs at once with a flick of his wand. "And I thought Harry had an elf, but it doesn't seem to be here, so…"

"What does Potter have to do with anything?"

"This is his house," said Scorpius. He turned briefly to see that Draco had quietly picked up his wand that had been left beside the two plates on the wooden table.

"I thought Potter lived with Muggles—and you said this was Headquarters for the Order."

"He does, and it is. His godfather left him this place."

"This is the Black house? That explains all the serpent carvings…"

With another flick of his wand, Scorpius sent the eggs and bacon flying across the room and onto the plates with perfect accuracy.

"Impressive," Draco commented.

"I practise."

Draco could not seem to stop staring at him. "Harry will be here within the week," Scorpius said, trying to ease the tension with conversation.

"What's going to happen? My family…"

"_Our_ family," Scorpius corrected.

"Yeah. Will they—"

"I don't know. Please, don't ask me about the future. Already things have changed that I wasn't expecting. Gryffindor was supposed to win the Quidditch Cup. Snape didn't help you with the Vanishing Cabinet—he couldn't have because _you_ wouldn't have told him about it. I don't think you ever cursed Harry that day. You shouldn't even be here, but—well, that's probably the only thing I _was_ planning."

He was tired—both physically and emotionally, and Draco was not helping. He sent the dishes to the sink with a Banishing Charm the moment they had both finished, then announced, "I'm going to sleep. If anything happens—"

He remembered something then, and summoned it out of his pouch: a small jar of thick, pale orange cream, labelled, 'Numbing Solution.' The jar settled itself on the table.

"If You-Know-Who tries to call you—I'm surprised he hasn't yet—but if he does, that should reduce the pain."

"Thanks, but I think I can handle it," Draco scoffed.

"Really? Snape says it gets considerably worse if you don't answer the call within five minutes. You're not planning to go back to him, are you?"

"No. He'd kill me." Draco pocketed the potion.

"If anything else happens, wake me up right away. Don't leave the house for any reason."

Draco nodded in agreement. Scorpius turned toward the stairs, then hesitated a moment, looking back at him, and they stared at each other as though each was expecting the other to do something. Scorpius rubbed his eyes, feeling tired, then Draco said, "Why did you wait so long to tell me?"

"I was worried you might try to turn me over to Voldemort," Scorpius muttered. Draco flinched at the sound of the name. "I don't want to meet him, ever."

"You act like you know me so well," said Draco. "Did it not occur to you that I would never turn my back on family?"

"Didn't I just tell you yesterday that sometimes I feel like I _don't_ know you? You may have the same soul—or whatever—as my father, but you're not him. And you might want to take a look at our family tapestry. It's in the drawing room on the first floor."

_- Draco -_

Just as he had done when he had apologised to Potter, Draco again did what Scorpius told him, without fully comprehending why. He found the tapestry, and started to read the names and dates, but it seemed such a pointless task. He knew his family tree on both sides well enough… What was he supposed to be looking for?

He imagined a line connecting his name to Astoria Greengrass, and a vertical line between them pointing to Scorpius. He stared at the spot where Astoria would be, wondering… He had never even _talked_ to her before… Would they really get married?

He wondered why Scorpius had volunteered that information. He refused to talk about what happened in the war, but he had not even hesitated to reveal who his mother would be—or _could_ be. If things had already started to change…

For a moment, Draco allowed himself to imagine a _different_ name joined to his own—but the numerous burn marks from those who had been blasted off the family tree caught his eye, and he replaced the image with nothing at all. He could not—_would_ not turn his back on his family.

He turned away from the tapestry, and started to head back to the bedroom, but the moment he opened the drawing room door, he heard a loud _crash_ from below that was instantly followed by a bloodcurdling screech. The voice of a mad old woman echoed through the house, screaming, "_Filthy half-breeds, blood-traitors, befouling the house of my forefathers…_"

Draco suddenly felt scared. Was this something he should wake Scorpius for? He was not a half-breed or a blood-traitor, but it still did not sound at all friendly. He hurried to the bedroom.

He heard the floor creaking outside the door; someone was climbing the stairs. Again, he wondered if he should do something. He glanced over; Scorpius was still fast asleep in the bed on the right side of the room, not even stirring.

Someone knocked on the door, but Draco did not answer it. He sat cross-legged on the other bed, feeling scared and alone without Scorpius. The door opened.

"Wotcher." It was a young woman with a heart-shaped face and bubblegum pink hair. She stepped inside the room and looked from Draco to Scorpius, and back again. "You all right?"

Draco nodded, unsure of what else to do. He did not know this woman.

"Kingsley was concerned, so Remus and I thought we'd check up on you. Has he been sleeping all night?" She glanced again at Scorpius.

Draco shook his head. The woman gave him a look that resembled pity; he did not like it. "An hour, maybe two," Draco muttered, trying not to sound pathetic.

"Well, are you going to sit here all day?"

He shrugged.

"Come talk with us," she said, giving him a small smile.

Draco was hesitant; he did not know if he could trust them. He was starting to suspect that her friendliness might be a ruse to get information out of him, even though he was sure he knew nothing of value. "Why are you _really_ here?" he asked.

"Smart one, are you? Come to the drawing room and we'll tell you. I don't want to wake him up." The woman turned and left, leaving the door open.

Grudgingly, Draco followed her back to the room where he had found the tapestry.

"I'm Tonks, by the way," she said over her shoulder as they entered. She sat down on the sofa, next to Lupin, his third year Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, who had been sacked when it was revealed that he was a werewolf. He was dressed in the same shabby robes Draco remembered, though he had more grey hair, and looked tired.

"The other one appears to be sleeping," Tonks said to Lupin.

Draco chose the chair that was farthest away from them, and asked again, "Why are you here? And what was that screaming I heard a moment ago?"

"Sirius' mother, Walburga Black," Lupin replied. "Someone left the curtains over her portrait open. She didn't yell at you?"

Draco shook his head, still waiting to hear what they wanted from him.

"With Dumbledore gone," said Tonks, "Mad-Eye's in charge of the Order now, and he wants someone here at all times to keep an eye on the two of you."

Draco was liking his situation less and less, especially at the mention of Mad-Eye Moody.

"Both of us? Isn't Scorpius in the Order?"

"No," said Lupin. "The Order is under the impression that he made a deal with Dumbledore in exchange for your family's protection."

"I don't know anything about it," Draco said quickly, before the werewolf could ask.

"You don't know if he offered anything in addition to being the Secret-Keeper here?" Lupin pressed.

_Something he doesn't already have_, Draco thought, but he answered, "No. He didn't tell me anything. Why don't you ask him?" He felt like he was a prisoner being interrogated.

Lupin forced a smile. Draco suddenly thought of something. "If you're supposed to protect my family… can't you get my father out of Azkaban before the Dark Lord does?"

"It's too late for that, I'm afraid," said Lupin. "While the Ministry was distracted at Hogwarts, the rest of the Death Eaters raided Azkaban. Voldemort was with them."

"We thought it was strange for Bellatrix to miss the trip to Hogwarts…" added Tonks.

Draco closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, feeling even more uncomfortable. The Dark Lord had both of his parents, he knew it… And what did this woman know about his Aunt Bellatrix? Who _was_ she?

"You don't have to stay here if you really don't want to—in this room, I mean," said Tonks, noticing his discomfort. "Just don't leave the house. There's food in the kitchen, and we'll be around if you need anything else."

He left immediately, and returned to the first floor bedroom. He wondered how long they were going to stay. Draco did not like the idea of living in the same house as a werewolf.

Though he was no longer tired, he lied down and closed his eyes, half wondering why the Dark Lord had not tried to call him yet, and half wishing for this nightmare to be over.

He did not know how much time had passed when Tonks entered the room again, bringing lunch, though Draco again suspected it was a ruse to get more information. Scorpius proved difficult to wake up; Draco was almost ready to resort to hexing him when he finally mumbled, "What is it?"

"Tonks brought us lunch," Draco answered.

Scorpius rubbed his eyes, and slowly pushed the blanket off. "Who else is here?" he asked with a yawn.

"Just her and the werewolf, Lupin." Scorpius scowled at these words; Draco guessed that he did not like the werewolf either. "To keep an eye on us."

"Mad-Eye's orders, most likely," said Scorpius, though he did not seem bothered by it. "I'll be right back." He stood up suddenly and left, but he was gone for only a minute, then he explained, "Still no message from Snape."

"How exactly does he send you messages?"

"Same way the rest of the Order communicates, but Severus doesn't want anyone else seeing his Patronus, so I only get his messages if I'm alone. Did your Dark Mark burn at all?"

"No," said Draco. "Tonks and Lupin want to talk to you when you're finished eating."

Scorpius gave no response. Draco looked up at the window, a goblet of pumpkin juice in his hand. The sun was shining on the street outside, and in the room it made the scene look like a dreary picnic; the two boys were sitting on the bed, mirroring each other with somber expressions, and a tray of fried fish and chips between them.

"Do you think maybe the Death Eaters haven't reported back yet?" Draco asked, deceptively nonchalant.

"I don't see any reason why they would wait," said Scorpius. "It is strange though; I thought he would have tried to summon you right away."

"My father escaped from prison last night," said Draco, again with no perceivable emotion. Scorpius dropped the chip he was holding. "That's what Lupin said."

"Then I think Voldemort definitely knows what happened." He picked up the chip again and ate it.

"Why exactly did you go back in time?" asked Draco. "Was it an accident, or are you trying to change something?"

"I'll tell you later; it's not important right now. I want to talk to Snape."

"Can't you send him a message?"

"He said not to. It isn't safe, I guess." He stood. "Come with me."

"Where?" asked Draco.

"You said Lupin and Tonks want to talk to me, but they didn't say it was private, did they? You might as well come."

_- Scorpius -_

"Dumbledore knew he was going to die. If he didn't tell you, then there's no reason why I should," was all that Scorpius needed to say. It was shocking, the way that they practically worshipped the old wizard.

There was a meeting that night, but neither Scorpius nor Draco was invited to attend. Tonks accidentally woke Mrs Black's portrait again, and afterword, Mrs Weasley stayed behind to make dinner. Lupin and Tonks stayed overnight.

It was sometime after midnight when Draco woke Scorpius up again.

"I just thought you should know," he said, his voice sounding somewhat strained. The Numbing Solution was open on Draco's bedside table, and his left sleeve was rolled up.

"How long has it been hurting?" asked Scorpius.

"Maybe ten minutes. It's still getting worse. The cream isn't helping much."

Scorpius sat up and pulled Draco close. He could see the dreaded skull and snake Mark clearly, burning black against his pale forearm. "A mark of ownership," Scorpius muttered. "That's what it is."

Draco looked at him, teary-eyed.

"Don't worry, it'll fade in a little while," Scorpius said.

"What if he tries again just to torture me?" He sounded like he was holding back sobs.

"I'll stay with you until it stops."

Draco's Dark Mark did not burn again, at least until Dumbledore's funeral two days later. Most of the Order had gone. Mundungus Fletcher was assigned to stay behind, though when Scorpius made it clear that he would not allow him to pilfer any Black family heirlooms, he decided he had better things to do than babysit, and they were left alone.

They sat at the long table in the kitchen, drinking tea, when quiet steps could be heard from the hall above.

"It's probably Mundungus trying to sneak past me," Scorpius said, standing up to check. It was not Mundungus, however; he barely reached the kitchen stairs when Severus Snape appeared in the doorway.


	9. The Present

**Chapter 9: The Present**_  
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_- Scorpius -_

"After two days with no news, I hope you're here to tell us what's going on," Scorpius said as he sat back down.

"What happened to my parents?" Draco inserted.

"If you cannot stay calm, then I will not tell you."

Both Draco and Scorpius fell silent as Snape descended the remaining stairs and joined them at the table. He looked as though he had aged considerably in the few days since Scorpius had last seen him; his skin was sallow and a distinct tiredness pierced the normally-perfect mask of indifference.

"The Order would not have left you two alone at Headquarters… who else is here?" he asked.

"We were left with Mundungus Fletcher, but he ran off somewhere. Everyone else is at the funeral, at Hogwarts," said Scorpius, starting to drum his fingers on the table top as he sipped his tea.

"Ran off to enjoy his renewed freedom, I would presume," Snape sneered, though it was only half-hearted. "I take it the Order knows about the recent mass break-out at Azkaban already?"

"Yeah, they know. So Voldemort let Mundungus out too? Why?"

Draco flinched at the sound of the name, but Snape overlooked the slip and answered, "He let _everyone _out. Azkaban is _empty_."

"He's insane," Scorpius gasped. No one spoke a word of denial. "But Ginny said they captured Greyback and a Death Eater that night—what's going to happen to them?"

Snape poured himself a cup of tea; Scorpius took it as a sign that there was no need to rush the conversation.

"Given the state that the Ministry is in, they will likely be released without trial. Once Scrimgeour is out of the way, the Dark Lord will have complete control of the Ministry and Azkaban; there is little point in imprisoning his followers now."

"Where are my parents?" Draco asked again.

"They are at home, alive, and relatively safe for the time being," said Snape.

"What do you mean, _relatively_ sa—"

"—he really taken over Malfoy Manor already?"

Snape gave them both a look that clearly depicted his annoyance at being asked two questions at once. He took a deliberately slow sip of his tea before answering, "The Dark Lord is using Malfoy Manor as his Headquarters. He moved in just prior to the Azkaban raid. He is not pleased with you, Draco."

Draco seemed about to point out that Voldemort's displeasure with him was obvious, but Scorpius kicked him under the table, knowing that Snape did not want to hear it.

"Why didn't the Dark Lord try to call him right away though?" asked Scorpius. "We've been wondering."

Draco's half-empty cup lay forgotten in front of him; Scorpius gripped his own with both hands. Then Snape asked, "What precisely did you do the night of Dumbledore's death?"

Draco started to recount everything, from when he had touched his Dark Mark in the dormitory and took the Felix Felicis, to letting the Death Eaters in through the Room of Requirement, stunning Greyback, and finally meeting Dumbledore atop the Astronomy Tower.

Snape looked thoughtful. After a short pause, he said, "The Dark Lord is not aware that you are with the Order of the Phoenix. It seems that none of the Death Eaters saw you go up the tower. They believe you panicked and disappeared on your own during the fight. That would explain why the Dark Lord decided to be 'merciful' and grant you some time to realise your mistake and return to him without being declared a traitor."

"But I didn't return—"

"And he is not concerned. He believes you will be found before long, though your father has already offered to disown you—"

"He wouldn't—" But despite his verbal assurance, Draco's voice trembled, betraying how real the fear of his father's disapproval was to him.

"The Dark Lord did not believe that Lucius was sincere," Snape said. "Both of your parents are being watched closely. He is essentially holding them hostage."

"He's not going to kill them?" asked Scorpius.

"Both are far more useful to him alive, at the moment—Lucius for his money, and Narcissa to draw Draco out of hiding. He trusts you will return on your own if you believe your mother to be in danger."

"Wh—what if I don't?" Draco said quietly.

"He has ordered the Death Eaters to bring you to him alive and preferably unharmed," Snape replied. "After which, I think he intends to kill your mother in front of you."

"Don't even think about going back, Draco," said Scorpius. "I know Grandmother, she would want you to stay safe." Even as he laced his words with reassurance, however, he was starting to feel that something was wrong.

"Can't you get them out somehow?" asked Draco.

"I would not be stupid enough to try," Snape replied coldly. "Lucius is unlikely to leave behind his manor and fortune unless he is in immediate danger; Narcissa will not leave her husband, and neither is likely to trust the Order of the Phoenix."

Draco looked at Scorpius, as though he expected him to argue, but Scorpius was looking down at the table, thinking. Something was wrong… but what it was, exactly, would be difficult—perhaps impossible—to test.

"I agree," Scorpius said after a moment, "with Severus. It sounds like the Dark Lord just doesn't want them looking for you."

He could imagine it clearly: Lucius learning of Draco's failure and supposed betrayal, swearing to Voldemort that the boy would be disowned and promising to find him, and Voldemort's accusation that Lucius would betray him rather than hand over his only son. His loyalty was kept only by the promise that Draco would be spared—but was Voldemort intending to keep that promise?

"Draco," said Scorpius suddenly, still without looking up. "Can you… leave the room?"

"Why?" said Draco. "What do you want to tell _him_ that you can't say in front of me? I thought we agreed to trust each other."

"Please. I do trust you. I just… want to talk to Severus alone."

"Fine."

Draco left without bothering to close the kitchen door, but Snape stood up and spelled it shut, adding _Muffliato_, as though he had been planning a private conversation all along. He sat back down, and when Scorpius did not immediately speak, Snape asked, "How did he take it, when you told him?"

"Typically," answered Scorpius. "Called me a liar, at first. Couldn't stop staring at me, eventually accepted it. Nothing unexpected."

"Does he treat you differently?"

"From before? Yeah, but… better. He treats me better. At Hogwarts, it felt like he was putting up with me because he had no other choice, but now he actually seems to like me." He felt himself smiling slightly.

"The Order does not trust you?"

The smile faded. "They don't trust me at all. They treat us all right, and Mrs Weasley comes here just to make sure we eat, but… it's obvious they all think I might betray them at the drop of a hat, they do a poor job of hiding it."

Snape poured himself more tea, and took a thoughtful sip.

"They haven't mentioned anything about you in front of me," Scorpius continued, "but considering they only have my word that you're still on our side…" A thought occurred to him suddenly. "That's why you waited until everyone else was gone to come here, isn't it?"

"Partly," Snape admitted, "though I did not expect you to be alone."

Snape watched him over the rim of his tea cup, while Scorpius swirled his own, as though bored.

"The Dark Lord intends to appoint me Headmaster of Hogwarts, as you probably know," said Snape. "When that happens, I will continue your research."

"You'd do that? Why?" Scorpius looked up for the first time in a long while.

"Because you are hardly able to do so while the Order keeps you here, and because we will _all_ be safer once you have returned home."

Scorpius did not want to agree. He had planned to wait until the end of the war, to make sure that everything turned out okay, but he forced himself to admit that, as always, Snape was right.

"Rose sent me a letter, a few days before the end of Christmas break," he said quietly. "She didn't go into detail about what we were doing in case my father happened to read it, but she said she found what she was looking for. She was looking for a way back. She checked out a few books before the holiday—it must have been in one of them—but I don't know which."

"Has it occurred to you that this book may not have been written yet?" said Snape, his expression inscrutable.

"Well, yeah, but I didn't really think of that until after—"

"After you used the Time-Turner?" Scorpius nodded, understanding now that leaving Rose behind was probably the stupidest idea that he had ever had in his life. "And that is one of several good reasons why unlicensed time travel is an imprisonable offence."

Snape drained his cup and stood. He reached into the pocket of his cloak and dropped a thin rectangular package wrapped in brown paper onto the table. It was tied with a string, and tucked in between was a folded sheet of parchment.

"A present," he explained. "Perhaps it will keep you out of trouble." Snape placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, almost affectionately.

"You're not staying?" said Scorpius.

"I am supposed to be in hiding from the Ministry, and the Order is supposed to believe that I have betrayed them. It will arouse suspicion if I am gone too long, or too often."

Scorpius played with the string around the package for a moment before responding, "So you won't be around much. No matter, we'll be all right."

"Do not do anything foolish," Snape said. "You are more vulnerable than you realise. I do not want you falling into the hands of the Dark Lord."

"I'm not—" He stood up, and turned to face Snape, who seemed to be watching him closely. "Draco is the vulnerable one, the Dark Lord isn't even after me."

"Draco has you to confide in," said Snape. "You trust no one, not even him."

"I do trust him."

"Then why did you ask him to leave the room?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Scorpius hesitated, then said quietly, "It's not a question of trust. I just wanted to…"

"You wanted to speak freely, without worrying about his feelings?"

"Yes, but… there's something else too… I have a theory."

"Go on," said Snape.

"It's Voldemort… something seems off about him. I get why he would keep Draco's parents alive for now, but why would he want Draco back alive and unharmed? He's a traitor. Why not just kill him and be done with it? That's what the Dark Lord I read about would do."

"He is not yet convinced that Draco's betrayal is anything more than cowardice, and he does not make a habit of killing loyal followers for no good reason."

…

Draco was predictably moody when Scorpius returned to their shared bedroom. "What did you and _Severus_ have to talk about?" he said.

"Nothing in particular," Scorpius replied.

"Takes you a long time to talk about nothing." He turned over to lie down on his stomach, looking more tired than he should have been so early in the day.

Scorpius sat down and tucked the small package in the far corner of his bed, then extracted the parchment from under the string and unfolded it. He smiled; it was instructions.

Draco's mood did not improve, and thus Scorpius refrained from showing him the package, then they heard the now-familiar shriek that meant that Tonks had knocked over the umbrella stand again.

Soon after Mrs Black's portrait was quieted, there was a knock on the door, a short pause, and then it opened. Tonks was the only one who ever came to their room, and they never bothered to answer, so this was usual.

"Where'd Mundungus go?" she asked. Her hair was still a vivid pink, but it had darkened somewhat since morning.

"No idea. Didn't even notice he was gone," Scorpius lied. "We've been up here almost all morning."

Draco was still lying down, facing the wall, not caring to make any contradiction. Tonks eyed them both for a moment, but when she found no evidence of mischief, she stated, "Lunch will be ready in a bit. Come downstairs."

She left the door open a fraction, as though she did not trust them to have it closed.

"Why didn't you tell her Snape was here?" asked Draco, sitting up on his bed. His tone implied that he was still no less upset.

"If he wanted the Order to know, he would have either stayed longer, or told me to tell them. It's not important anyway; he had nothing to report that they didn't already know or would have cared about."

There was another meeting on Monday, and though it had clearly been preplanned, they were not told until Mrs Weasley ushered them out of the kitchen straight after dinner.

"Why do we have to stay here? I want to go home," Draco complained, shutting the bedroom door behind them. The package still sat unopened in the corner of the bed on the right side.

"You would rather live in the same house as Voldemort—who's probably planning to torture and kill you?"

"Stop saying the name!" Draco spat, avoiding the question. "Merlin, it's like—_summoning_ him!"

Scorpius raised his eyebrows; he had said it on purpose that time, in his annoyance that after two days, Draco still had not forgiven him for wanting to talk to Snape privately. He sighed and sat down on his bed, muttering, "I want to go home, too."

Silence fell between them, broken only by the pouring rain that darkened the sky. _How fitting_, Scorpius thought. It was not like they could go outside, anyway.

"Why did you even come here?" Not waiting for a response, Draco collapsed on his bed, lying down on his stomach with his face toward the wall, as he usually did when he was sulking.

Sick of it, Scorpius conceded, "All right, if you really want to know what Severus and I talked about, I'll tell you…"

"I don't care," Draco snarled.

"Then what the hell is your problem?" Just as the words were out, Scorpius suddenly felt guilty. It felt wrong to be angry with him. "Really, tell me what's wrong," he said softly. "We shouldn't fight, it's—unnatural. It's like I'm arguing with myself."

"Why should I tell you?" Draco's tone was no less distraught, but he had at least turned his head to face Scorpius.

_Because I care about you_, he thought, but it seemed like such an obvious thing to say that he was sure Draco would not respond favourably. He considered his words carefully, then said, "While Severus is not around, we can only trust each other. Neither of us can afford to lose that."

"Then why are you keeping things from me?" asked Draco.

"I'm not. We really didn't talk about anything import—"

"It feels like you are."

"If I am, then it's not intentional. Maybe you're just missing something."

There were footsteps on the landing outside the door, which they both ignored as usual, but they seemed to continue up the stairs, and there was more than just footsteps—it sounded as though someone was dragging something.

Scorpius opened the door and took a single step outside the room; after seeing who it was, he closed it quietly behind him and smiled. "Harry."

Harry Potter turned around and regarded him with a fixed stare for a moment, then replied, "Mind giving me a hand?" His messy black hair was damp from the rain; he was dragging his trunk with one hand, and held an empty owl cage with the other.

Scorpius pulled out his wand, smirking, and muttered, "_Locomotor trunk_," and Harry's trunk started to carry itself up the remaining steps to the second floor. "Everyone here is of age, Harry. You can use magic; the Ministry won't know it was you."

"Right, I forgot," said Harry sheepishly. "Where's your evil doppelgänger?" he asked as Scorpius followed him up the stairs.

"In the bedroom, sulking—and he's not evil."

"Right, just a coward."

"How did you get here, anyway?" asked Scorpius, in effort to change the subject.

They entered Harry's room; the trunk settled itself at the foot of one of the beds, and Harry set the bird cage on top.

"Mad-Eye brought me—Side-Along Apparition. I sent Hedwig ahead." He looked toward the window, where the rain was still pounding steadily against the glass, almost as though he half-expected his owl to arrive at any moment. "The Dursleys are in hiding. Hermione's coming after she talks to her parents."

"Hermione? She's coming here—to stay?" Scorpius said.

"Yeah," answered Harry. "I thought she would have gone to the Burrow with Ron, but she said she's coming here. Ron's at home for now, then I suppose he might stay here come September, since none of us are going back to Hogwarts."

Scorpius made a mental note of this detail. Harry futilely tried to flatten his hair, then glanced over at the empty portrait on the wall.

"The Order doesn't let you in on the meetings either?" asked Scorpius.

Harry scowled. "They think we're too young to be told what's going on. It was the same thing when I stayed here two years ago. Where are your grandparents? I thought the Order was protecting them—not that I'm looking forward to seeing Lucius Malfoy again."

"I don't like him much either." There was a long silence before he added, "Don't mention them in front of Draco."

Harry sat down on the bed; Scorpius hesitated a second, feeling conflicted, then joined him. He thought it unwise to leave Draco alone when they were so close to making up, but though he knew it was selfish, he did not want to deal with him at the moment.

"I didn't know the locket was a fake," Scorpius said suddenly.

Harry met his gaze, an interested look in his eyes.

"Remember when we first met, I told you that I _thought_ Dumbledore was taking you to find a Horcrux that night, but I didn't know the details. I knew that there _was_ a fake locket, but I had no idea where it was hidden or when you would find it."

"Sorry about that, then," Harry said. "I don't suppose you know who R.A.B. is?"

"If you don't figure it out before Hermione gets here, I'll tell you."

"You'll tell us?" Harry repeated, as though he thought there had to be some kind of catch.

"One of you will find out soon enough anyway."

"Has Snape been here at all?" asked Harry a moment later; his calm suddenly sounded forced.

"He has, but don't tell the others; I don't know if they trust him."

"If they didn't, they wouldn't still be using this place as Headquarters, knowing he can get in." He paused for a second, then confessed, "I didn't tell them what happened."

Scorpius felt his eyes widen; there was no way—no way that Harry had lied about something that big. He continued, "I told them one of the Death Eaters did it, and Snape had to go with them to keep his cover. I still don't know why I did it—don't ask. I told Ron, Hermione, and Ginny the truth, of course—well, I told Ginny everything you told me two weeks ago."

"I suppose it's better if they don't know, but… Merlin, I can't believe you didn't tell them it was Snape."

"He was the Half-Blood Prince," Harry blurted out.

"The Half-Blood—_what_?"

"Prince. Hermione found out, the day before it happened. I'll show you." He walked over to his trunk, set aside the owl cage, and opened the lid. The item he was searching for must have been packed close to the top, for he found it quickly, and handed it to Scorpius. "It was Snape's."

It was an unusual copy of Libatius Borage's _Advanced Potion-Making_; the cover looked almost new, but inside the pages were yellowed, mangled, and some of the edges were torn. On the bottom of the inside back cover, it was written in small, cramped handwriting, '_This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince_.'

"This is definitely Snape's handwriting," Scorpius commented, as he continued to riffle through the book, pausing occasionally to examine the handwritten notes. "Does he _know_ you have this?"

Harry actually smirked. "No, he doesn't, and don't you dare tell him." A moment passed; Scorpius continued to read silently, then Harry said as though to himself, "It's hard to believe… all year I was thinking that this one book taught me more about Potions than Snape did in five years, then I find out it was his all along."

Scorpius stopped suddenly, his curiosity piqued at a page with the corner folded down, and he read aloud, "'_Sectumsempra—for enemies'_…"

"That's the only one I haven't got around to trying out yet," said Harry. "Some of the spells in there are pretty good."

"I don't think you should try this one."

"Because it might be dangerous?" Harry scoffed. "I've heard that enough from Hermione."

"You obviously have never studied Latin. Sectum… semper… it's a cutting curse. This is _definitely_ dangerous." His throat felt somewhat constricted.

"I almost used it on Draco," Harry said quietly. "I only didn't because he was a split-second faster."

Scorpius closed the book and handed it back to him. "Just don't use it," he said firmly. "I won't tell Snape. But someone needs to inform him that the Order doesn't know who killed Dumbledore."

"Right, you can do that," Harry said.

"Yeah, I should," Scorpius agreed, standing up as he remembered the instructions that Snape had left him. "Draco's probably still pissed off at me… probably even more so if he knows I left him alone to talk to you…"

"What did you do?" Harry asked, leaning back on the bed in curiosity.

"Nothing really, he's just being a prat."

"You know, you don't have to share a room with him. There's at least six bedrooms in this house."

Scorpius shrugged. "I don't want to be alone—I don't think he does either—and he's all right, usually."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

Annoyed, Scorpius continued, "I'm not that different from him, and you get along with me. Can't you try to give him a chance?"

"He nearly killed my best friend. He spent almost all year mending that cabinet, and he brought _Death Eaters_ into the school."

"Harry, I gave him Felix Felicis that night." Harry sat up straight. "He let the Death Eaters in because it was a good idea. Who do you think stunned Greyback? Draco betrayed them. He's on our side, whether he admits it or not." He paused to take a few deep breaths, then ended with, "You know what kind of family he comes from. It's a lot harder for him to make the right decision than it is for you and your friends, but he still did it."

He left the room a minute later, and headed down the stairs, feeling like he was moving between arguments, caught in the middle of some pointless, endless debate.

Draco was rummaging in his trunk (Dobby had brought it from Hogwarts a few hours after Dumbledore's funeral) when Scorpius entered their bedroom. He glanced up in acknowledgement, but said nothing.

"Everything all right?" asked Scorpius.

"Just tired," Draco muttered. He extracted his pyjamas from underneath a pile of books and started to change. "You were talking to Potter."

"Yeah," said Scorpius. He removed his robes as well, then it occurred to him that, "You're not 'just tired'—tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," Draco muttered as he crawled into bed.

Scorpius sat down beside him. "There's no point lying to me; I can see right through you, and I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me. I don't care if it takes all night."

Defiantly, Draco closed his eyes. Scorpius used the opportunity to brush the hair off his forehead and tease, "I'm not going to leave."

"You'll fall asleep eventually," Draco retorted. "At least put out the lamps."

"No. Neither of us is going to sleep until you tell me why you're upset."

"Why do you even care? You said I'm not your father."

Scorpius pushed the blanket up to Draco's chin, and he said softly, "I don't want you to be. I want you to be better."

He extracted Draco's wand from underneath the pillow because it was closer than his own, and used it to extinguish the oil lamps around the room, then continued, "I love both my parents very much, and I am not blind. My mother is a shadow of her fourteen-year-old self. _This_ Astoria is full of dreams and aspirations wilder than anything even _I_ could imagine. She'll be bored with you. My father is not happy, and he probably never will be. It's too late to change anything in my time."

"What—"

"Don't interrupt, I'm not finished. I'm here to help you. No matter how you look at it, we're still family. I want you to have the same opportunities that I have."

"Are you finished now?" Draco asked when he paused again.

Scorpius brushed his lips softly against his forehead, knowing that Draco rarely received any affection from his own father (though he felt extremely awkward and resolved not to make it a habit), and whispered, "Yes, now you can sleep."

"I thought you wanted me to tell you what was wrong."

"Tell me, then," said Scorpius.

"I hate it here. I don't want to live with Potter, and—and the werewolf! What are we going to do when the full moon comes? Aren't you scared at all?"

Scorpius laughed. "Don't worry, Draco, when the full moon comes, I'll protect you from the scary werewolf."

"Shut up! It isn't funny. Can't we just go someplace else?"

"No, we can't. Aside from the fact that there _is_ nowhere else, Hermione's coming here." He gave Draco a knowing smirk.

"We have to share a house with the Mudblood, too? And you say that like it's a good thing? What is _wrong_ with you?"

"If you say that word again, I'm going to hit you."

"Mudblood," Draco challenged.

_SMACK_—Scorpius had punched him hard on his left cheek. Draco moaned and cried out, "Ow—That really hurt!"

"I warned you," said Scorpius, and then he continued as though there had been no interruption, "It _is_ a good thing. It's a perfect chance for you to talk to her with no Weasleys around."

"Why would I want to do that?" asked Draco, extracting a hand from under the blanket to rub his cheek.

"I'm testing the Theory of Alternate Universes," said Scorpius, suddenly sounding excited. "I need to make a significant change, and if the theory proves correct, then the world that I came from should remain unaffected."

In one fluid movement, Draco sat up straight, pushed the blanket off, spun Scorpius around, and pinned him to the bed, and Scorpius knew he had understood everything at once. "You're insane," he breathed. "Me and Granger?"

The rain had stopped, and for a moment, all was quiet. Then Scorpius said, "You will never be happy with my mother, because you're always going to love someone else. Letting her go will be one of the biggest regrets of your life. Don't make the same mistake my father did."

Draco's hands were shaking as they held him down. "I can't—she's—she's a—" There was already a bruise forming on his cheek, and Scorpius felt satisfied; it must have been painful, if Draco's reluctance to say 'Mudblood' again was any indication. "My father would—"

"Your father is a selfish bigot." He had not meant to say it—the words were out before he could stop them. Draco tightened his grip.

"He wouldn't do anything," Scorpius corrected. "He loves you."

Draco's grip slackened for a second, then he released Scorpius, and fell back onto the bed. "I don't want to talk about this," he said, pointedly staring at the lofty ceiling. "Please, just drop it. I'm tired."

He did not want to drop the subject, but Scorpius was tired too, and Draco had said 'please'… "All right, I'll let you sleep… if you answer one question first. I need to know this hasn't changed: do you really have feelings for Hermione Granger?"

"Since fourth year. If you tell _anyone_—especially her—"

"I won't—"

"—I'll never trust you again."

_- Draco -_

"_I still think it looks more like a coyote_."

_Failed attempt number seven_, Draco counted in his head as the silver Patronus dissolved in front of him. "It's a wolf. Try again," he said.

They were both lying symmetrically on their backs, though Draco's bed was better made, and Scorpius had his wand held up in one hand and an unfolded parchment laid across his chest.

"_Can we pretend it's a coyote, then?_"

_Number eight_. "Why does it matter? There's hardly any difference."

"Coyotes are tricksters, more Slytherin," Scorpius answered without casting the charm. "Wolves are barely a step up from dogs."

He cast the Patronus again, but rather than give it a message, he held it in place and asked, "What kind of wolf do you think it is?"

"It's an arctic wolf," Draco answered after a moment.

Scorpius cancelled it in frustration. "How can you be sure? It _could_ be a timber wolf."

"It's the fur pattern and thickness. Your Patronus is all white and has a heavy coat. Also because there's no such thing as an arctic _were_wolf." Draco smirked.

Scorpius picked up the parchment with his free hand, apparently reading over the instructions for the umpteenth time. "I can't figure out what's wrong… I'm doing everything it says…"

"Maybe I'm technically alone if the only other person around is the one that's sending the message," Draco suggested. Scorpius looked at him as though he had said something ingenious.

"I think Lupin is still in the kitchen," said Scorpius. "Go downstairs and I'll send you another one in about… three minutes."

Draco hesitated. "I don't want to be alone with him."

"It's not even close to the full moon; he's not going to transform. Just go."

Lupin was harmlessly sipping his morning tea at the kitchen table, and barely even looked up when Draco entered and poured himself a glass of juice as an excuse to be there. He stood by the door, waiting, and hoping the werewolf would not try to make conversation, but three minutes passed and the Patronus did not come.

…

The mysterious package that had obviously been brought by Snape turned out to be a game. Draco was not fooled. If the design of the box did not give it away by itself, the fact that he had never heard of any game called 'Monopoly,' and that the fake paper money was similar to the Muggle money he had seen his father use (with an appropriate amount of disgust) to pay for their campsite at the Quidditch World Cup all but confirmed it: the game was made by Muggles.

Draco protested, but Scorpius simply ignored him and started charming the pieces to move by themselves and explaining the rules, as though he had played at least a dozen times already. It was worrying.

Draco had his chess set and a number of books, but there was little else to do, and a single match of the Muggle game could easily pass an entire afternoon, so grudgingly, he played.

The inevitable happened on Friday, the thirteenth. Draco was alone in the room, reading, because Scorpius had gone off with Potter. This would not have been unusual, except that Potter had come to their room, asking for him—but Draco had long since stopped caring about the alarming familiarity that Scorpius had with the Chosen One.

The bedroom door had been left ajar, and Scorpius had been gone nearly half an hour, when footsteps climbed up the stairs, stopping at the first floor landing, and he heard her voice.

"_You_!" He had not heard her sound so angry since the time when she had slapped him in the face back in third year. "Do you realise what you could have _done_?"

"Hermione—" That was Potter; maybe she would hit him…

Draco stepped outside the door to watch, trying to make as little noise as possible, but it seemed that Potter and Scorpius had already been on their way downstairs—all three of them were just outside. Scorpius was backed against the wall, looking cowed, and Granger was staring directly at him with a dangerous glint in her chocolate brown eyes.

Then she noticed Draco. "He shouldn't even _be_ here!"

He backed away, half-expecting her to drop the beaded bag she was holding and pull out her wand, but then Scorpius seemed to regain his courage, and what he said clearly surprised even him.

"What would you have me do, then? Stand aside and let him get tortured and possibly killed by Voldemort? Would you do that to _your_ parents?"

Granger quieted immediately. The air grew heavy, and no one made a sound for almost a full minute.

"Hermione," Potter spoke again, "just leave him. We need to get Ron; I found something important." He gave her a meaningful glance, and with some hesitation and a final dangerous glare at Scorpius, she turned around and the two of them continued down the stairs.

Draco was still stunned by the proceedings, and only vaguely noticed Scorpius pulling him by the arm back into their bedroom.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Scorpius said with a smirk.

"Stop it. Please."

"Why?"

"Are you thick?" Draco snapped. "Malfoys do not marry Mud—Muggle-borns." He hesitated a second, hoping Scorpius would not hit him again for slipping up. "It's against tradition. I've told you before, regardless of any uncontrollable feelings I might have, I won't turn my back on family."

"You don't get it." For the space of a few seconds, Scorpius looked disappointed, then he again pulled Draco by the arm back out onto the first floor landing, and into the drawing room.

"Look," Scorpius commanded as they stood in front of the old tapestry that depicted the Black family tree.

"What am I supposed to be seeing?" asked Draco.

"Here." Scorpius pointed to a black mark between Draco's mother and his Aunt Bellatrix. "Andromeda Black. You don't know her, do you?"

"No," Draco replied, confused. "Well, I know she exists, but we don't talk about her because she betrayed our family, as you can plainly see." He saw no point to this exercise.

"No," said Scorpius. "She married a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks—"

"Tonks?" Draco interrupted.

"Yes. Nymphadora, the Tonks that's in the Order of the Phoenix, is their daughter. Our cousin. In a few weeks, she'll marry Remus Lupin—"

"The _werewolf_?" Draco interrupted again.

Scorpius sighed. "Stop. I mean it."

"Stop what?" He was only getting more and more confused.

"Everything. I put up with it until now because… I didn't want you to hate me, but it needs to end right now."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Andromeda and her daughter; Sirius—" He pointed to another black mark next to Regulus Black "—all these other people—they didn't betray our family—_our family_ betrayed _them_."

Draco suddenly felt like he should have been having some sort of epiphany, but it did not come. He was still confused.

"Are you even listening?" asked Scorpius.

"I'm listening," Draco insisted. _But I don't understand_.

"I am a blood-traitor."

Scorpius might as well have slapped him across the face.

"You're not," Draco said. "You can't be. You're a Malfoy."

It was too much—maybe this was the epiphany, but he could not take it. He was starting to feel dizzy. Scorpius dragged him away from the tapestry and over to the sofa.

"Breathe, Draco," Scorpius said, pulling out his wand. "Just breathe for a minute."

Draco closed his eyes, still struggling to make sense of what Scorpius was trying to explain. A minute passed.

"Here, drink this, it'll help." Scorpius pushed a goblet filled with amber liquid into his hand; there was a bottle of Firewhisky on the table.

He drank. The whisky burned his throat, but it was comforting. They sat in silence for what felt like ages; Draco's head was spinning.

He continued to sip the alcohol, but the goblet did not empty.

"Things are changing, Draco," said Scorpius. "Pure-blood supremacy is past. Voldemort will lose, and his ideals will die with him."

"But she hates me." He held the goblet in front of him with both hands, staring at it. Scorpius had long since drained his and set it down on the tea table, but Draco did not notice.

"You've been nothing but a prat to her and her friends for six years."

"Exactly—"

"But I don't think she hates you."

"You don't?"

"You should talk to her. Forget what she is, and what your father would think, and just be nice to her. Don't even think about marriage, or anything like that. No pressure."

He drank a little more, and leaned back against the sofa; his vision blurred as he looked up at the ceiling, and he felt the goblet slip out of his hands. "Hey—where'd it go?" It was on the table; he reached for it—

"No." Something was squeezing both his wrists, holding him back, and suddenly all he could see were grey eyes like his own. He felt dazed.

"You had better remember this conversation," Draco heard, then he was lifted to his feet, and his body seemed to move by itself, as though someone was dragging it, then he fell upon something soft and realised it was a bed.

"Close your eyes," the familiar voice spoke again.

"But it's not nighttime."

Suddenly, the room darkened. "Now it is. Go to sleep."

Vaguely, he thought that night could not possibly have come so quickly, but he trusted the voice, so he did what it said.


	10. Truth

**Chapter 10: Truth**_  
><em>

_- Draco -_

His throat was dry when he woke up, and his head throbbed. The room was dark, but small, blinding rays of sunshine seeped in through the crack between the curtains. Draco tried to push himself off the bed (oddly, he was still in his clothes, and lying on top of the blankets), but he was so exhausted that he could barely move. He reached a hand back, banging it painfully against the headboard, then lowered it to rub at his forehead, wondering what the hell had happened.

"Here." He forced his eyes open to see… _Granger?_ What was she doing in his room? She was standing beside the bed, holding out a vial of tomato-red liquid. "Hangover cure."

He reached his hand up and took it, then her words registered, and he replied, "What? I'm not—" His voice sounded hoarse, and his head was still pounding.

"You are."

He squeezed the vial in his left hand, and resumed rubbing his forehead with his right, trying to think. Everything felt muddled. Where was Scorpius? He glanced sideways; the other bed was unmade and empty. Maybe this was some bizarre dream.

"Snape made it, if you're wondering," said Granger. "If you don't want—"

"He's here?" It was not the best question he could have asked, but he felt so awful that even his brain was not working properly.

"He came here last night. You've been asleep for over twelve hours."

He held the vial up to get another look at it. Was she trying to poison him?

"If you don't want to drink it, I don't care, but as you appear to be all right, I'm going back upstairs."

"Hang on—" She turned her head to look back at him, but did not take her hand off the doorknob. "Where's Scorpius?"

"Should I get him for you?"

Draco suddenly felt pathetic. Even after more than one week in that house, he still did not feel safe without Scorpius around. Enough was enough, he decided—he did not want _her_ thinking he was weak. He managed to push himself up to a sitting position, then he uncorked the vial of potion, summoned all the courage he possessed, and drank all of it in one gulp.

It was cold, and it tasted awful, but it burned away the lump in his throat even as he swallowed, and he felt his headache start to ease up instantly.

"No," said Draco, his voice suddenly clear. "What happened? Why was I… I don't remember drinking."

Granger released her hold on the serpent-shaped doorknob. She was wearing jeans, and a cream-coloured jumper—Muggle clothes. In her other hand, she was clutching a large leather-bound book, but he could not see the title. The long box containing the Monopoly game was peaking out from underneath the other bed; he suddenly wondered if she had noticed it, and if she recognised what it was.

"You drank almost half a bottle of Firewhisky," she said.

He was vaguely aware of shaking his head; the last thing he remembered was talking to Scorpius in the drawing room. It had not been a pleasant conversation.

Granger was staring at him. "You trust him, don't you—Scorpius?" she asked suddenly.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I? We're family."

"He's going to get someone killed." There was a slight hint of reproachfulness in her tone.

Draco raised his eyebrows.

"He put a Refilling Charm on your glass when you weren't looking," Granger explained, the reproachfulness increasing as she spoke. "He then proceeded to get _himself_ drunk enough that he neglected to pay proper attention. Someone with that amount of brains should _not_ be messing around with time!"

"Why are you so irritated about it, Granger? He's not _your_ problem."

"I'm not—" She seemed taken aback by the question. "It's none of your business, Malfoy." She reached for the doorknob, and this time she did not hesitate.

Draco stood up to follow. "Where's Scorpius?" he asked, though it was only out of curiosity this time.

"In the kitchen," Granger replied, now sounding annoyed with his questioning.

Scorpius set a plate of pancakes in front of him without a word the moment Draco sat down at the table. He was sipping what looked to be his second or third cup of strong tea. His eyes were drooping.

"What exactly happened?" Draco asked. "Granger said you got me drunk."

Scorpius kept looking down, avoiding his gaze.

"I didn't mean to. You were—you looked like you were in shock or something—do you remember?"

Draco paused to think. He remembered a general unpleasant feeling, but he could only relate it to one thing: "Why did you say that you're a blood-traitor?"

Scorpius rolled his eyes and muttered, "You're asking why I said it… Sometimes, you can be really thick…"

Draco resumed eating in silence, preferring the safety of denial. After a moment, he said, "You sent her up to talk to me."

"No, she was going up to her room anyway," replied Scorpius. "I just asked her to check on you. Don't worry. No one else is awake; she won't be suspicious. And don't change the subject. I said that I'm a blood-traitor because I am."

Draco poured more syrup on his pancakes, and again, he resumed eating quietly. He knew, and he understood, but it scared him because he could not think of _how_ or _why_. Eventually, he stated, "Malfoys are not blood-traitors."

Scorpius responded with, "Do you remember what I told you after that?"

"No, I don't."

Scorpius sighed, and then said in a tired voice that was almost a drone, "Twenty years from now, the term 'blood-traitor' will be almost obsolete. Many pure-bloods were killed or imprisoned after the war. Only about half of them had children, and even fewer had more than one child. Pure-bloods are dying out. In the world I come from, hardly anyone cares about blood status anymore."

"You would marry a Mudblood?" Draco spat, not caring to censor his language. "Or—or a _Muggle_?"

"No," said Scorpius immediately. "I would never marry a Muggle. _That_ would be against tradition, and nothing short of betrayal. I would marry a witch, and if she happens to have Muggle parents, I'll get over it."

"And how would marrying a Mudblood _not_ be against tradition?"

"If you're going to use that word, then I'm not going to bother answering. I told you, I won't put up with your bigotry anymore."

Draco silently debated whether the question was worth it, then conceded, "Muggle-born, then."

"I always thought that the pure-blood ideology—before You-Know-Who came along and twisted it for his own purpose—was less about actual blood purity, and more about culture and tradition, which any witch or wizard can learn and adapt to. A Muggle can't, obviously—that's the difference. There's no reason for either of us to marry a pure-blood, except to satisfy your father, who will still find something to complain about no matter what."

_- Scorpius -_

The following days passed without incident. Hermione had taken the bedroom across from Harry's, and spent most of her time reading, either alone or with him. Ron visited whenever Mrs Weasley left the Burrow's kitchen long enough for him to escape her clutches through the fireplace, and the three of them locked themselves upstairs. With the exception of an unidentifiable buzzing, no sound came from the room during these times.

Draco's Dark Mark burned twice that week. It was impossible to tell if Voldemort was summoning all of his Death Eaters, or calling Draco specifically. It scared Scorpius, especially if it was the latter, because he knew that when this happened, Draco was teetering on the edge of answering the call. Scorpius watched him, and reminded him again not to leave the house, that he would meet only death if he did.

They had been arguing again, when it happened the second time. Draco had stopped mid-sentence, cringing, and reached for the Numbing Solution that he kept in the top drawer of his bedside table. It was also the second time that Harry had come to their room, and for once, Scorpius actually got up to answer the door.

"Can you come upstairs?" Harry asked. "I want to talk to you about something."

He had never been the master of subtlety. Scorpius gazed into his eyes, trying to see the intention behind them… Harry seemed… nervous about something.

"Can it wait?" said Scorpius. "I'm a little busy."

"How long?"

"It's just the two of us, right?"

"Yeah, Ron just left, and Hermione's downstairs…" Harry was definitely nervous.

"Fifteen minutes." Harry nodded, and Scorpius closed the door.

"You don't have to stay here," said Draco. He was sitting on his bed, and clutching his left arm, which had the sleeve rolled up. "I don't need your help."

"Harry's up to something…"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I figured that much."

"I mean something unusual. I don't like it."

"Go talk to him, then. I don't care."

Their eyes met; Scorpius tried to determine if he was telling the truth. Draco flinched and looked away.

Harry closed the door the moment he stepped into the room. The next second, Scorpius saw that his suspicion was correct: Ron Weasley was sitting on one of the beds, and Hermione was stepping around the other two boys to cast _Muffliato_ on the door. Even the snowy owl perched on top of the wardrobe seemed to know that it was a set-up.

Harry had lied, and it hurt him, probably more than it should have, but Scorpius was outnumbered and he did not want to initiate hostility. He stood his ground near the door (even though retreat was impossible while Harry was behind him, leaning against it), and said to the room at large, "What do you want?"

Weasley could not have stated it more plainly than, "Tell us where the Horcruxes are."

Scorpius took a deep breath while three pairs of eyes stared at him. It was exactly what he had feared, and what Kingsley had promised would not happen. To no one in particular, Scorpius said, "No."

"You don't want to," said Hermione. "Why not?"

He spoke to her directly this time, "I don't want to change anything."

"But you were quick to act when your family was involved," she countered. "You interfered directly the night Dumbledore died. You gave Draco a rare and powerful potion that he would not have acquired otherwise, and brought him here when you knew that he was supposed to go with those Death Eaters."

"And now you're telling us you don't want to change anything," Weasley added, giving him a look of ill-disguised contempt.

"That was different. It was carefully planned out—"

"It was extremely selfish."

Scorpius gulped; Hermione was wearing the exact same expression that Rose often had when she was cross with him.

"If you don't want to tell us anything, we won't force you," she continued. "But if you help us… we might be able to end this war a lot sooner."

"What if I'm wrong?" She looked taken aback at the softness in his tone, but she was the only one; Ron must have thought he was faking it, and Harry was simply watching with interest, silent. "Things might have changed already, or they might be fundamentally different from my world."

"So that's your tactic, then," said Ron coldly. "If something bad happens that could have been prevented, you'll just claim you didn't know, so you won't have to take the blame for it. Typical Slytherin."

Scorpius was getting annoyed extremely fast.

"It'll be _our_ fault, not yours," said Hermione, "if we choose to act on what you tell us, knowing you might be wrong."

"Hermione—"

"Hermione's right," Harry interrupted. "We shouldn't be asking him anything. But we have no idea where the Horcruxes are, and we don't even know _what_ the last one is. If we can gain an advantage, it's worth the risk." Scorpius caught his eye, and he added, "You've been right so far."

They were all watching Scorpius again; he hated it. He felt cornered. "No," he said.

He fully expected an argument, but he did not expect it from Harry. "Lupin told me you made a deal with Dumbledore. He said the terms seemed suspiciously disproportionate in your favour, and that you must have offered Dumbledore something of really high value that he didn't want to mention to anyone else. The Order has been watching you because they know you haven't handed it over."

Scorpius closed his eyes for a moment; it was easier to ignore their guilt-inducing expressions when he could not see them. It was unfair. He was doing nothing wrong, yet he knew that they were going to force the answers out of him somehow.

"The cup is at Gringotts," he muttered. "I don't know which vault. The snake is definitely a Horcrux. It's probably wherever Voldemort is. You've already tracked down the locket."

"Umbridge definitely has it, then?" asked Ron.

"She must, if that's what you found out from Kreacher."

"And the last one?" prompted Harry.

"Are you going to tell us?" said Hermione, when he did not answer.

"The last one… is Ravenclaw's lost diadem. That's the one I offered Dumbledore." He took a deep breath. "Dumbledore promised to get my entire family safely away from Voldemort. The Order knows this, but as far as I can tell, they aren't trying very hard to keep their end of the deal. I won't tell you where the diadem is until it's done."

"You slimy, two-faced bastard," snarled Weasley. "I can't believe Dumbledore trusted you. You don't care what happens as long as _your_ stupid family is safe." He stood up. "You're not even denying it."

He might as well have said it—Scorpius could almost hear what he was thinking: _You're just like your father, you arrogant Slytherin git_. He laced all the venom he could muster into, "You wouldn't believe me if I did."

He closed his eyes for a second, and the next he heard a shout of, "Ron, no!" at the same time that Weasley's fist collided with his face.

Scorpius staggered backward before hitting him back, and Weasley slammed him against the wall in response. "Stop it!" Hermione shouted again.

She tried to pull Ron off him; Harry tried to get in between and hold Scorpius back, but it was no use; both of them were out for blood, punching every inch of each other that they could reach.

Scorpius could think of nothing but Ron Weasley; the aches all over his stomach, face, and chest were nothing compared to how good it felt to finally hurt him. There was a shout of, "_Impedimenta_!" and Weasley staggered back; Scorpius was stopped from falling over only by the wall behind him, but the spell caused nothing more than a brief interlude; Scorpius tackled him a second later and the fight continued.

Hermione must have left the room, because there was no more shouting, and Scorpius was pinned to the floor exactly where she had been a moment before. Weasley gained the advantage, and any triumph that Scorpius felt was quickly replaced with pain, then—

"That's enough!" Someone pulled Weasley off him. Kingsley had entered the room with Hermione in his wake. "Malfoy, come with me."

Scorpius did not need to be told twice. He caught one last look at Ron, who's lip was bleeding, and followed Kingsley. Once the bedroom door had closed behind them, he tried to wipe the wetness from his face; his hand came back smeared with red.

"He hit me first," Scorpius told Kingsley. "I think he broke my nose."

Kingsley looked back at him briefly, but his only response was, "Is Draco in your room?"

"Should be."

They stopped at the first floor; Kingsley collected Draco, who took one look at Scorpius and asked, "What happened to your face?"

"Got attacked by a weasel," Scorpius answered. Draco snickered.

They were led down to the kitchen, and made to sit down on opposite sides of the table. Draco seemed about to complain (his assigned seat was directly on Lupin's right), but he bit his lip and stayed quiet.

The kitchen had completely transformed in the last few days, since the house-elf, Kreacher had returned. Where it had previously been barely livable, it was now sparkling. The pots and pans shone.

"Let me see," said Kingsley, as he examined Scorpius' face. He shook his head almost imperceptibly and pulled out his wand.

Scorpius felt the blood syphon off his face, and whatever had happened to his nose mended. Most of the pain was gone, then Lupin pushed a cup of steaming herbal tea in front of him.

He forgot what the fight had been about after only a few sips—it was so relaxing… He felt disoriented. His gaze was unfocused; he saw only a swirl of shapes and colours in front of him.

He needed to lie down, maybe he was ill. The cup slipped from his hand and smashed into pieces on the wooden surface, the remaining tea splashing out. He stumbled dizzily as he got up from the chair, but strong arms caught him.

From a distance, a voice that he recognised as Draco's shakily cried out, "Wh—what's wrong with him?"

"No," said Lupin's voice, firmly, from across the table. "He's fine, do not interfere."

"You're all right," said a deep voice—Kingsley's—from beside him. The arms that were closed around his shoulders sat him back down at the table. "Can you tell me your full name?"

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy." His lips seemed to move of their own accord; it felt as though there was a stranger in the room with his voice.

"Your date of birth?" Kingsley asked quietly.

"Sixth of October, 2005."

There was a pause. "And how old are you now?"

"Seventeen."

"Who are your parents?"

He blinked a few times, then said, "Draco and Astoria Malfoy."

Another pause; the two men exchanged glances, while Draco watched, his eyes wide with horror.

"Where did you put the Time-Turner?" Lupin's voice; it seemed to come from somewhere in front of him.

Scorpius answered, "It's in my bedroom, at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Inside a mokeskin pouch on my bedside table. No one can remove it but me."

The voice in front of him spoke again, "Are you planning to do anything to aid Lord Voldemort or the Death Eaters, or to undermine the efforts of the Order of the Phoenix in any way?"

"No."

"Do you intend to do anything to change what happened in the war?" It was Kingsley again.

A blink, and then an answer, "Yes." He blinked again. The man across the table pulled out a wand. "I don't want Severus Snape to die. I intend to warn him before it happens. I need to help Har—"

"_Silencio_!"

His lips continued to move, but the rest of his words were lost. For a moment, the two men were still. "I think that's about all we should do," Lupin said.

His cup was repaired, and Kingsley poured a translucent, red-tinged liquid inside. "Here," he said softly, handing it to Scorpius. "Drink this, it's the antidote."

Scorpius swayed his head back; he did not understand what was happening. Kingsley lifted the cup to his lips, and slowly, the liquid trickled down his throat. Lupin cancelled the Silencing Charm.

Draco leaned over the table and squeezed his hand. "Scorpius, look at me," he muttered.

"Hmm…" Everything was slowly coming back into focus; he felt as though he had just woke up from a dream.

Draco turned to Lupin and snapped, "How much of that _poison_ did you give him?" He was squeezing Scorpius' hand so tightly that it hurt, then he murmured, "Are you okay?"

"Relax," said Kingsley. "Take a deep breath."

"He can't just—he's ill—fix him!" Draco complained, but no one listened to him.

Scorpius breathed deeply, and answered, "'M fine." He felt sleepy. He needed to lie down.

Draco's grip on his hand loosened, but he did not let go. "They poisoned you with Veritaserum!"

Horror-struck, Scorpius looked in turn to Kingsley, then Lupin, but neither of them denied it. "We needed to confirm your identity and intentions," Kingsley offered by way of explanation. "Mad-Eye's orders. With Harry staying here, and you as Secret-Keeper, it was necessary to be absolutely sure. We don't trust people blindly."

It all felt hazy. He could not recall the questions.

_- Harry -_

"The git might've been lying," Ron was saying, his face still nearly as red as his hair.

Harry was barely listening. Almost six years it had been since his first visit to Diagon Alley on his eleventh birthday, and still he remembered the day clearly. '_Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it_,' Hagrid had said. If the cup was at Gringotts, did they even have a chance?

He fell asleep that night with the centuries-old warning repeating in his head, _If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours, thief, you have been warned, beware…_


	11. A Prelude to Freedom

**Chapter 11: A Prelude to Freedom**

_- Draco -_

The tension in the atmosphere of number twelve, Grimmauld Place almost completely dissipated as the month of June came to an end. With the Order's newfound trust in Scorpius, the boys were left alone more often. Even Kreacher, who seemed to be infatuated with both Malfoys (going so far as to address them as 'Master'), made a considerable effort to brighten the old house, and obliged Draco's meal requests more often than anyone else's.

For the first time since he had been told that his mother was still with the Dark Lord, Draco believed that things would get better.

Lupin and Tonks were married, as predicted—a quiet ceremony at Tonks' parents' that Draco—for obvious reasons—did not attend. He had no plans either to attend the Weasley wedding that was to take place on the first of August, but that was partly for a different reason.

"So," he said to Scorpius when they had retreated to their room after dinner. "What's going to happen on the first of August that you're not bothering to warn anyone about?"

It was easy to tell when Scorpius was hiding something, especially when a date was mentioned; he had turned a shade paler than normal and suddenly grew interested in the conversation when Bill Weasley had stopped by Headquarters to announce it.

"Why should I warn them?" Scorpius replied. "From what I figured, they don't want me trying to change things. Though when the inevitable happens, they'll probably blame me anyway. The Weasel will, at least."

Ron was now referred to as 'the Weasel' between them to differentiate him from the rest of his family, because neither would use his first name except to keep up appearances in front of others. Draco was pleased to see that Scorpius had developed a new distrust toward Potter as well.

"I thought it seemed more like they don't want to know what you're trying to change, as long as you're not intending to help the Dark Lord."

Scorpius brushed past him; he had spotted the bandy-legged ginger cat sitting on his bed. He picked Crookshanks up and escorted him out of the room, muttering, "_Why_ is this cat always following me? It's like he thinks I'm up to something…

"You really want to know?" he then said, looking at Draco. "The first of August was the day that the Ministry fell. And Bill and Fleur are planning their wedding like everything is normal. They won't tell us what the Death Eaters are up to; the Daily Prophet hardly reports anything. If You-Know-Who himself decides to crash the wedding, they'll have to deal with it."

Draco widened his eyes in astonishment. "You really don't care, do you?" he could not help asking.

"I don't want to hurt anyone…" Scorpius muttered. "But… I don't know."

"Hermione is going to their wedding," Draco whispered.

"Did you just call her _Hermione_?" Draco flushed a pale pink at the grin that stretched across Scorpius' face.

"Well, it would sort of interfere with your plans if she were to die… wouldn't it?" he amended.

"You're worried about her getting ambushed by Death Eaters at a wedding because it will interfere with my plans, but you won't even play Monopoly with her. Come on, no one's going to tell your father."

"Go get her, then. Potter too, if you want. I'll play. Just don't tell them I suggested it."

It was not a show of friendship, but rather, after over a month of living in the same house and being forced to share meals at the same table, Draco was used to their presence. He wondered, too, whether Scorpius might be right about Hermione Granger… She was the only one who did not seem to ignore him whenever possible.

One hour into the match, a dreadful pain seared his left arm, and Draco dropped the dice reflexively. His money bag token slid by itself seven spaces to King's Cross Station.

"You passed Go," Granger told him.

A massive struggle began inside his head. He glanced at the drawer where his potion was kept, knowing he had only five minutes before the burning would be impossible to ignore, but he was afraid to reach for it while they were watching.

Scorpius handed him the two hundred pounds from the bank, and their eyes locked. He, of course, could not understand the fear that compelled Draco to keep the Mark hidden from everyone else, so he said, "He's calling you again, isn't he?"

Potter and Granger both darted shocked looks at him, as though the idea that the Dark Lord would enjoy reminding Draco that he was still looking for him was a foreign concept.

Draco closed his eyes and leaned back against his bed. The last thing he wanted was to deal with this in front of _them_.

"Game over then," said Potter with false nonchalance. "Anyone fancy a Butterbeer?"

He heard Granger agree, then Scorpius inserted, "I'll go with you."

Draco caught his eye as Scorpius stood to follow Potter, and he gave him a look that he hoped conveyed his annoyance at being left alone with _her_.

Granger started to cast the spell that Scorpius had taught her to compare the totals of each player's assets. Choosing comfort over pride, Draco reached for his Numbing Potion.

Granger was quiet; as long as he focused on the task at hand, he could pretend that she was not there—until he dipped his cloth into the potion a second time and caught her staring at it, reading the label. A small voice muttered, "Does it really hurt that much?"

He raised his eyebrows, and decided there was no harm in telling her, "It gets worse over time if I don't go to him."

Granger seemed to contemplate this new information. "But… what if you can't? I mean, if he called all his Death Eaters at once, what would happen to the ones in Azkaban?"

Instantly, he thought of his father. How many times in his year-long imprisonment had he endured this pain with nothing to counter it? Was he still being tortured now? Instead of voicing his concern, however, Draco used all the strength he possessed to roll his eyes and inform her, "There aren't any Death Eaters in Azkaban."

He did consider her question, though, and answered in his head, _He would think that they deserved it for getting themselves captured_.

She grew silent for a long moment, watching as he continued to rub the potion into the blackened Mark, then he pressed the cloth tightly against his arm.

"How often does this happen?"

_Lately, almost every other day_. "Why would _you_ care?" he snapped.

Granger glanced back at the Monopoly board, where Draco's token was glowing leaf-green. "You won," she pointed out. He glanced over briefly in acknowledgement, then she waved her wand, and all the cards and fake money returned neatly to their allotted places in the cardboard box.

"I ask because you shouldn't have to suffer alone. Do you tell Scorpius, at least?"

Draco did not answer.

"You don't," she guessed.

"If he's around when it happens, he'll figure it out, but I don't bother him with it otherwise."

Her mouth sat open for a few seconds before she replied, "It wouldn't bother him. He cares about you."

Draco winced; the pain was getting worse, but he forced out, "He's too protective of me. It's suffocating. He treats me like a child."

They exchanged glances; another silent moment passed.

"Why didn't you do it?" Granger asked suddenly as she shoved the game back under the bed for an obvious excuse to look away from him.

"Do what, exactly?"

She clarified, "Why didn't you kill Dumbledore? Harry was there, that night, on top of the Astronomy Tower. He told us what happened. Dumbledore was weak; you could have easily disarmed him and done it. Why didn't you?"

He suddenly became very interested in the pattern of the rug he was sitting on.

"Draco?"

"I didn't _ask_ for this," he muttered, still looking at the rug though it was obvious that he meant the Dark Mark on his arm. "He _chose_ me."

"But you wanted it," said Granger. "Didn't you?"

"Just leave me alone!" He gave her a cold glare and stormed from the room, walking toward the kitchen on autopilot—his only focus was to get away from her—and that question, because she had no business asking, and he had no answer anyway. The door opened before he could reach for the knob and he walked straight into Scorpius, who steadied him. Their eyes met and they both froze for a second.

"Here," said Scorpius, pushing one of the Butterbeer bottles he was holding into Draco's hand. Potter was watching from behind him, and Granger had followed Draco down the stairs.

"I want to be alone," Draco whispered so that only Scorpius could hear.

"Go. I'll distract them," Scorpius whispered back.

With his bedroom now empty, Draco returned to it. He resealed his jar of potion and put it away, then fell back onto his bed, closing his eyes tightly and clutching his left arm. He did not understand how he felt or why, but at that moment, the dull ache that pierced through the numbness was almost comforting.

_- Scorpius -_

Scorpius took a casual swig of Butterbeer and asked Hermione, who was still standing on the bottom stair, "What did you do to him?"

"I—er—" she stuttered for a moment, then she told him everything, and when she finished, she asked reprovingly, "You don't really think it's a good idea to leave him alone when—when this happens?"

"No, it really isn't," said Scorpius. "No matter what he says or does."

"Think he might be tempted to answer it?" Harry could not help asking.

Hermione looked appalled, but Scorpius nodded.

"If it's really happening more often than he's telling me… he's probably scared that You-Know-Who is getting impatient and might start killing his parents soon if he doesn't go back."

"If he wants to go, then—"

"Don't you _dare_ tell me to let him. Just don't."

Harry stopped mid-sentence. Scorpius left the two of them in the hall, and quietly entered the bedroom. The bottle of Butterbeer was still unopened in Draco's hand, and his cheeks were soaked with silent tears.

Scorpius conjured a soft handkerchief and pressed it into his empty hand. "Drink the Butterbeer, it'll help," he said, and sat down on his bed.

Draco dabbed at his eyes, and after a moment, he uncorked his bottle.

"My father once told me," Scorpius said quietly, "it's okay to cry, as long as you don't do it in front of anyone you can't trust."

Draco sniffled, seemingly in response, and took a drink.

"You're not the only one, Draco. None of us have parents anymore."

A strangled whisper, "Don't say that."

"No, it's true. Harry's an orphan. I left home; you can't go back. Hermione modified her parents' memories and sent them to Australia. They don't even know they have a daughter."

Draco openly stared at him.

"And she came here, instead of staying with her weasel boyfriend, because we're all the same. That's why the Weasel acts all high and mighty around us—because _his_ family is whole and together. He probably can't even imagine what it's like to have a difficult life."

"You know a lot about it," Draco commented.

"I ask questions," said Scorpius. He downed the remainder of his Butterbeer and added, "She will choose you over him if you give her a chance to."

_- Harry -_

He was standing in a darkened room, lit only by firelight, and he was looking down from a far greater height than usual, into the black eyes of a sallow-faced man who knelt before him. The scene was blurred.

"How long?_ When did it happen_?" His voice was high and cold, and there was no mistaking the undertone of anger.

"Weeks ago, my Lord," said Severus Snape. "It was done shortly after the old fool's death." He spoke, in contrast, in a voice that was controlled and emotionless.

"_And you tell me there is no way to break through the enchantments_?"

Fear seemed to flicker in Snape's eyes, but he held his gaze.

"The Secret-Keeper lives, my Lord—it was never Dumbledore. While Harry Potter remains inside, it is impossible to attack him."

"I am disappointed in you, Snape. Dumbledore is dead, and the Ministry will soon be mine, but Harry Potter is out of my reach and one of my Death Eaters remains _missing_. I am not pleased."

He raised a large white hand and saw that it was holding a wand made of yew.

"_Harry!_"

"My Lord—"

"_Harry, wake up!_"

The image of Snape sprawled on the floor vanished, and Harry opened his eyes. His scar seared, and he was shivering and covered in cold sweat. Hermione was kneeling beside him on the bed, looking stricken.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry, thinking that something unrelated to his vision might have happened.

"You were screaming," said Hermione.

Behind her, Scorpius added in a shaky voice, "We could hear it from the first floor."

Draco stood in the doorway, white-faced and staring at Harry like he had never seen him before. His left pyjama sleeve was ruffled up slightly; Harry could see the red snake protruding from underneath that he imagined must have recently burned black.

The scene was frozen for a moment, then Scorpius spoke again, "What happened? It wasn't my family, was it?"

"No," said Harry. "It was Snape."

Scorpius turned as white as Draco. "He's not—?" He gave Harry a look that pleaded for more information.

"I don't know," said Harry, and he quietly recounted everything he had seen, but Scorpius only grew paler.

"No. He can't—he's not dying this time—_Expecto patronum_!"

Nothing happened. Scorpius took several deep breaths, apparently concentrating, and tried again with a stronger sense of determination in his voice, "_Expecto patronum_!" and Harry saw a silvery white wolf lingering in the air for a few seconds before soaring through the window out into the night.

"You shouldn't have seen anything at all, Harry," said Hermione. "You mustn't let that connection open up again—Dumbledore wanted you to close your mind!"

"Dumbledore is dead."

Hermione flinched at the coldness in his tone. Harry's scar was still prickling. Draco could not seem to look away from him.

"And I can't close my mind while I'm sleeping."

…

As the first of August drew nearer, Harry and Hermione started spending more time at the Burrow, helping with preparations for Bill and Fleur's wedding. There was little else to do; the Horcruxes were out of reach until Harry turned seventeen, and though they still talked, prepared, and modified their plans when any of them discovered something new, the mission had, for the most part, been postponed.

It was a dreary afternoon when, seeing that it was the only way to get Scorpius to help, Harry confided to Lupin that it would be beneficial for the Order to rescue Draco's parents from Voldemort.

"We have looked into the possibility," Lupin said. "If Voldemort had not got to them first, it would have been done already. To take them directly from his Headquarters, however—especially if they refuse to cooperate with us… that would be nearly impossible."

"But there's something we need," Harry pressed. "Scorpius says he knows where it is, but he won't tell us unless his family is safe."

Lupin shook his head and stated, "I thought Kingsley had told you not to bother him about what he may or may not know, especially about things concerning the war."

"It was Ron's idea," Harry said. "I wasn't sure about it, but even Hermione thought it made sense as long as we didn't _force_ him to tell us anything."

"He is who he says he is, and his intentions are basically good. There is no reason for anyone to know more than that unless Scorpius chooses to divulge."

Harry rolled his eyes and guessed, "Because he might be wrong?"

Lupin was wearing a strange expression; it was almost disappointment. "No, Harry," he said. "Because he is not an encyclopedia. He is a boy with feelings, and he does not want to be used."

All Harry could manage was a bewildered, "Oh."

"No matter what his intentions are, it would not be wise to have him think of the Order as his enemies," Lupin explained further, giving Harry a slight conspiratorial grin.

The guilt that he felt subsided only after he had thought about it overnight and it occurred to him that people sometimes do the worst possible things with the best intentions, and this reminded him, strangely, of Dumbledore, and the second page of the letter he had found in Sirius' old bedroom.

He thought all this as he was heading down to breakfast with a two-week-old edition of the Daily Prophet in hand, but he stopped just in front of the kitchen door when he heard Hermione's voice saying, "You could come if you wanted to."

"I wasn't invited," said a Malfoy—Harry was not quite sure which, for their voices sounded similar. "Unless… you mean to ask me to accompany you? If that were the case, I don't think I would refuse."

"As flattering as the offer is," Hermione said, "I'm going with Ron."

"Right. Of course," said Malfoy, not sounding either surprised or disappointed.

"What is it with the two of you?" asked Hermione suddenly. "Your attitude is not half as bad when Ron's not around. Why do you hate him so much?" She dropped her voice to a low murmur and added, "What did your Ron Weasley do to you?"

Harry thought that he should not have been listening, but it seemed like it would also be a bad idea to interrupt at that point, so he stayed where he was. Then he heard Scorpius—he was sure it was Scorpius, now—saying, "He hates me for an unjustifiable reason, let's just leave it at that."

"That doesn't give you the right to blame anyone here for things that haven't even happened yet."

Harry heard a clattering of plates, then Scorpius said, "I was referring to both of them, actually. Or has your boyfriend explained to you why he hates me?"

"He's not my—"

This was when Harry pushed open the door, and not surprisingly, the conversation died at once.

Hermione stood up, apparently glad for an excuse to leave, and said to Harry with slight awkwardness, "The potion should be ready today. I'm going up to check on it. We'll bottle it later." (They had been brewing two cauldrons full of Polyjuice Potion for the past month).

Harry nodded, then dropped the newspaper on the table. "Have you seen this?" he asked Scorpius. It was turned to the page that showed the article about Rita Skeeter's new book.

There was a moment's pause in which Scorpius skimmed the article, then he said, "I don't read Skeeter. I know enough about her to know that her work is unreliable at best, and a worthless collection of lies at worst."

"What about Grindelwald though?" asked Harry. "Was Dumbledore ever friends with him?"

Scorpius looked puzzled for a short moment, then proceeded to skim the article a second time, apparently looking for the part where Grindelwald was mentioned. "It doesn't say that in here," he remarked.

"I know; it's something I read somewhere else," said Harry.

"I know a lot more about Grindelwald than I do about Dumbledore… but I have never heard of any relationship between the two until the famous so-called duel, and it's highly unlikely that they became friends after that, as Grindelwald has been imprisoned at Nurmengard ever since."

"What do you mean, 'so-called' duel?"

"There are no confirmed eye-witness accounts," Scorpius said. "No proof that any duel ever happened. For all we know, he _could_ have just surrendered."

They were silent for what felt like an eternity before Scorpius seemed to think it important to add, "Dumbledore is not someone I would put my faith in. He's just like Voldemort, only a little less murderous and a lot more self-righteous."

…

Harry returned from the Burrow on the thirty-first of July with a wild mixture of emotions swarming through his head. He felt angry and confused, but also happy, and on some lower level, there was fear and uncertainty, and the same odd sense of freedom he had been noticing for weeks already was still growing.

He stared into the small square mirror—his Godfather's last gift—for a moment before stuffing it inside the mokeskin pouch that Hagrid had given him, but it showed nothing more than his own reflection. Wherever the other mirror was, it was not at Grimmauld Place. Harry wondered if maybe Sirius _did_ have it with him when he went through the veil—or perhaps the _Reparo_ spell had fixed the mirror, but not its magic.

He added his other treasured but worthless possessions to the pouch: the Marauder's Map, his mother's letter and the photograph he had found with it, and lastly, the Snitch, after pressing it to his lips for the second time and rolling his eyes at Dumbledore's cryptic message, _I open at the close_…

One more day, he thought—just one more day, and then everything would truly begin.


	12. After the Wedding

**Chapter 12: After the Wedding**_  
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_- Draco -_

Draco was awakened by a bright ray of light from the sun shining traitorously through his window. He had hoped that it would rain hard enough to make an outdoor wedding impractical, or for a hurricane or anything to postpone the event, or at the very least, he had hoped that the Ministry would have fallen by morning, but it was a perfect day and nothing whatsoever had happened yet.

He showered, put on some clean robes, and did the only other thing he could think of. He climbed the stairs to the second floor.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" She had barely even looked up from her book when he stepped in through her open bedroom door.

He said nothing for a long moment. Granger looked up again, and their eyes met, then he noticed the title of her book, written in runes. "Beedle?" said Draco, raising an eyebrow. "Why are you reading children's stories?"

Granger hesitated a second before she replied, "I have nothing to do until three o'clock and this is the only book I own that I haven't yet memorised." She turned back to her page the moment she had finished speaking, as though to imply that the conversation was over.

"You're a terrible liar," Draco said, smirking.

Her head snapped up and she countered, "Why are you interested?"

"I'm not," answered Draco. Then finally he said, "You're really going to the Weasley wedding?"

"Yes, I am."

He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the door frame, then told her, "You'd be better off not to."

Her lips parted a fraction, and she stared at him for nearly a full minute, while Draco looked down at the floor, feeling uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "Why do you say that?" she finally asked.

Draco shifted his feet and glanced out the window; there was still nothing but blinding sunshine. "It'll be a waste of time," he sneered.

Granger raised her eyebrows. "No one's forcing _you_ to go."

"No one's forcing _you_, either. You'd be better off to just stay here."

The ancient book lay forgotten on the bed in front of her. Her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion, then she asked, "Why?"

Averting from her gaze, Draco forced out in a strained voice, "Because the Ministry will fall today, and the first thing the Death Eaters are going to do afterword is ambush everywhere that has any connection to the Order of the Phoenix, looking for Potter."

Her face paled. "Scorpius told you this?" Granger whispered.

"Weeks ago," said Draco. "He's not planning to tell anyone, but I thought you should know." He turned from the room before she had a chance to respond.

_- Scorpius -_

Hours passed, each one feeling like a million years. The moment the house had emptied, Draco had sat himself down at the bottom of the stairs, facing the door. He had said that there was nothing to do anyway, and that he was not in any mood to concentrate when Scorpius had suggested a game of wizard's chess.

"She'll be all right," Scorpius said.

Draco ignored him.

"If I really thought there was any chance the Dark Lord himself would turn up, I would have told Kingsley. It'll be fine, there were no deaths confirmed on that day last time, other than Rufus Scrimgeour, and Hermione is sensible enough to take care of herself."

"Then why did she even go?" Draco blurted out.

Scorpius looked at him suspiciously. "She doesn't know that anything's going to happen?"

"I told her this morning," Draco admitted. "I told her not to go, but she went anyway."

It took Scorpius a second to remember that he had never told Draco to keep the prediction a secret, though he had certainly never expected him to tell anyone.

"Maybe she didn't believe you," Scorpius suggested.

"She isn't stupid. Why would I lie about something like that?"

"What I mean is," Scorpius said slowly, "nothing is for sure anymore—particularly specific dates. The Dark Lord _will_ take over the Ministry at some point, probably soon—_anyone_ could predict _that_—but for all we know, it could happen tomorrow."

"But then… the Dark Lord might—"

Scorpius shook his head. "I seriously doubt he'd bother, unless he knew for sure that Harry would be there, which he does not." Draco seemed to relax, so Scorpius felt it safe to ask, "Are we really going to sit here all day?"

They spent the day trying—with varying degrees of success—to distract each other, but at best, none of their attempts lasted longer than thirty minutes.

Long after day had turned to night, they were once again sitting at the bottom of the stairs. That was when Harry, Ron, and Hermione burst through the front door—or rather, Hermione and Ron, dragging a semi-unconscious Harry with them, all three still in their dishevelled dress robes, and Harry still disguised as a red-haired Muggle.

"What happened?" asked Scorpius, already getting the feeling that all had not gone as well as he had expected.

"Shut up and move," said Weasley.

Harry was starting to change back to his normal appearance as he was carried toward the stairs, his body convulsing. Recognising the seriousness of the situation, Draco and Scorpius shuffled aside.

"We'll have to use a Hover Charm," said Hermione, her tone quiet and clinical. She did not spare either Malfoy a single glance.

It was seconds after Hermione started to levitate him up the stairs that Harry suddenly opened his eyes and seemed to have regained control of his body. Hermione cancelled her spell, and Ron was quick to demand, "What did you see? Is he still there?"

"Nothing," Harry panted. "No. He's gone." His words were staccato, punctuated by heavy breathing. "I didn't see anything. Just flashes. He's too angry." He rubbed at his scar.

Draco was staring at him, white-faced, just as he had done the one time before. He then suddenly rushed past, up to the first floor landing.

"What happened?" Scorpius asked again, speaking to Harry this time.

"_You're_ asking _us_?" said Weasley. "Shouldn't you know? Just forgot to mention it to anyone?" His voice was almost hysterical.

"I don't know _everything_!" said Scorpius, and for once he was thankful when Mrs Black's piercing scream broke the argument.

Hermione was now focusing all of her attention on forcing the curtain closed. She succeeded at the precise moment that Draco returned, so that he could be heard whispering to Harry, "Try this. It dulls the pain a little."

"Thanks," Harry muttered, taking little notice of who was giving him the potion as he dabbed it on his scar—then he looked at Scorpius, and answered, "Voldemort."

Something that must have looked like recognition flashed in his eyes, for Ron immediately spat, "You knew."

Harry stared at him with an unusually fixed expression.

"I didn't—"

"Ron," Hermione interjected, "he's not the only one who knew. Draco told me this morning." All eyes turned to her, but she avoided making contact, and spoke no more.

Silence stretched endlessly, then Harry suddenly stood and climbed the rest of the stairs to the first floor; Hermione did the same a second later, but she continued past the landing. There was another short delay as Weasley realised that the conversation had unceremoniously ended, and he followed Harry.

"You really didn't know?" Draco asked quietly, once he and Scorpius were left alone.

"I'm still confused," muttered Scorpius, "beyond the fact that You-Know-Who apparently did decide to personally crash the wedding."

"Then…" Draco pulled him into a loose hug. "It's good we didn't go."

"You never change," Scorpius said with a slight smirk. "Are you going to go comfort her?"

"What?" said Draco, though there was no question that he had heard perfectly. "No. I'm not."

"Go. Or I'll hex you."

"You don't even have your wand out." Draco stood regardless of the empty threat, and stated, "I'll go up there. That's it. I'm not promising anything more."

Scorpius found Harry and Ron in the drawing room. The lamps were lit; Harry sat on the freshly cleaned sofa, and Ron stood staring out the window, as though waiting for something.

Almost as soon as Scorpius closed the door behind him, a silver Patronus soared through the window, just as the doe had done the first night that he had spent at Grimmauld Place, but this time it formed into a weasel, and it spoke with the voice of Ron's father, "_Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched_."

Ron made a noise of relief and slumped down beside Harry. Scorpius pretended to examine the old tapestry.

"Malfoy," Ron said suddenly, without looking at him. "How much _did_ you know?"

Scorpius turned to face him, surprised at the lack of animosity. "The Ministry has fallen," he answered, "and Death Eaters are now visiting every place that has any connection to Harry or the Order of the Phoenix, looking for him under the pretext that he may have had some involvement with Dumbledore's murder."

"No—Harry would never—no one will believe that—"

"If anything else is happening or has happened," Scorpius continued over his cries of outrage, "then I had no idea, and as no one seems to want to tell me anything, I remain ignorant."

"Voldemort was there," Harry spoke with dead calm. "At the wedding. Kingsley sent a Patronus warning everyone that they were coming, but I don't think anyone was expecting _him_."

"But he couldn't have known you would be there. How could he? Even the Ministry didn't know where you were staying."

"I don't know," said Harry. "Maybe he guessed. He didn't know who I was right away, at least—not until my scar—well, at that point it was sort of obvious."

"Then what?"

Harry hesitated, his eyes closed, as though trying to remember a dream. "He cast the Killing Curse. I couldn't dodge. My wand… did something funny… Last thing I remember was someone grabbing my arm—must have been Hermione."

The moment that Harry spoke 'Hermione,' Ron stood up and left the room without a word, not bothering to close the door.

"Where's Draco?" asked Harry.

"Don't know," said Scorpius.

"I was just wondering… why did he tell Hermione—_just_ Hermione?"

Scorpius shrugged. "As fascinating as that observation is, I think… I'm going to bed."

He followed in Ron's path, but a second before he reached his bedroom, he heard from the stairs a contemptuous, "What are _you_ doing, Malfoy?" followed in a different voice and a casual tone by, "Nothing, Weasley."

He left the bedroom door open, and as expected, Draco followed and closed it.

"So?" said Scorpius.

"What?" asked Draco, avoiding his quizzical gaze.

"How'd it go?"

Draco pulled off his robes and slipped his wand beneath his pillow, deliberately taking his time. "We talked," he said slowly. "I suppose it was comforting. She stopped crying after a while, anyway."

"It went well, then?"

Draco smirked and said nothing more than, "You mind your own business."

…

Though number twelve, Grimmauld Place was still technically Headquarters, it seemed that the Order had all but disbanded. Lupin had made an appearance a few days following the wedding to inform them of Mad-Eye's death ("He tried to get between you and Voldemort," he had said to Harry. "There was nothing anyone could do, with all that was happening.") and other unpleasant yet unsurprising news, but they saw no one else for weeks.

Scorpius was the only one in contact with Snape, though he kept this fact to himself. He still could not shake the feeling that Voldemort was not acting how he should have been. Harry had no visions, and Draco insisted—rather fearfully—that the Dark Mark had not pained him once through all of August. But his parents were alive, and still Voldemort had no obvious plans to kill them. He was preoccupied, according to Snape, and when Scorpius asked for an update on his theory, the only response he received was, "_The Dark Lord is as sane as he has always been_."

The first of September came, and with it, three times the usual amount of Death Eaters stood in the square outside, watching the join between houses eleven and thirteen.

"A bit ironic, how things turned out," Draco muttered. "A year ago I was certain I wouldn't be going back to Hogwarts because of my involvement with the Death Eaters… only this is the last place I thought I'd be instead."

"Come on, dinner should be soon," said Scorpius. "Harry's back."

Draco looked at him incredulously. "How do you know?"

"Those two—" Scorpius pointed to two of the six men outside the drawing room window, which Draco promptly identified as Dolohov and Rookwood "—just acted like they saw something."

"Well, we know where Snape is," Harry was saying as they entered the kitchen.

Five glittering silver goblets and plates were laid out at one end of the long wooden table, and at the other, Ron was snatching up and hasting to put away a pile of parchment that at quick glance looked like handwritten notes and an assortment of diagrams. Hermione set down the newspaper she had apparently just finished reading, and Scorpius caught sight of the heading.

"Oddly convenient how everything works out for him, isn't it?" said Ron. "How do we know he's really on our side? He hasn't even contacted the Order since You-Know-Who took over."

"Obviously Dumbledore left him the job of protecting the students," Scorpius replied, his voice taking on a distinct defensive characteristic. "And of course he's not going to contact the Order while they're all being followed; he can't risk losing his cover. Imagine what would happen to the school if a _real_ Death Eater was in charge."

Dinner was a quiet affair. Though it was evident that Harry, Hermione, and Ron had much to discuss between themselves, there was still mistrust in the air, at least enough that they would keep their plans hidden and refrain from speaking openly in front of the other two. Scorpius resented it, but he made no complaint.

"Wonder what he's doing—Snape," Harry said between mouthfuls of Kreacher's savoury stew.

"I think I know one thing he's _not_ doing," Scorpius felt the need to mention.

"What's that?" asked Hermione.

"I don't think he's taking orders from any portraits."

"Why would he—oh…" Hermione and Harry exchanged sideways glances, but Draco and Ron merely looked confused.

Scorpius slept soundly that night, his dreams clouded by curly red hair, and in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness, he heard her voice, but it was calling, "Draco."

Her voice spoke again, "Draco," and Scorpius realised that it was not Rose, but Hermione, and he was not dreaming.

"What are you doing?" Draco murmured. It must have been early, as he, too, sounded barely awake.

"I thought I should let you know…" Hermione said. "Ron, Harry, and I… we're going somewhere."

"You're going to the Ministry."

"How—"

"You don't hide your plans very well. Someone left a stack of maps on the table a few nights ago. I've been there enough times with my father; I know the place."

The room had gone quiet; Scorpius opened his eyes a fraction. Draco was sitting up, and Hermione perched beside him on the bed, both of them dark silhouettes in the dim lighting of dawn.

"I'm not going to ask why in Merlin's name you would walk straight into the second most dangerous building in the country, because I know you won't tell me, but…" Draco dropped his voice to a whisper. "Don't get yourself killed. If Potter tries to do something suicidal, promise me you'll run in the opposite direction." There was a hint of a sneer behind his words.

"I have to go," Hermione muttered, and though her back was to him, Scorpius was sure she was smiling. "We'll be back in time for lunch. Don't worry."

"Getting in is always easier than getting out," Draco said seriously. "I hope you planned your escape."

The silence that followed was deadly. It took only a second for Scorpius to understand that there was no escape plan, and Draco clearly realised this as well, for he then said, "Why didn't you ask us to help? I know the Ministry, Scorpius is insane but brilliant, you can trust us—"

"We asked him over a month ago; he refused," Hermione retorted.

"When Shacklebolt interrogated him with Veritaserum, I heard him say that he _did_ intend on helping Potter. Are you sure he didn't just refuse to play Seer?"

There was another tension-filled pause, during which the sound of creaking floorboards could be heard from the stairs, and when Hermione spoke again, she was frantic. "You're right. You're absolutely right," she muttered. "I can't believe we overlooked that. We were so focused on getting inside… This is stupid. So much can go wrong. What am I going to tell Harry? We can't do it today!"

"Hermione, listen," said Draco. "You have a plan to get in, right?" She must have nodded; he continued, "No heroics. Act fast. Do what you need to do—nothing more—and then get out as quickly and safely as possible."

Scorpius then heard the faint sounds of shuffling blankets and squeaking bedsprings, and chanced another look—only to catch Draco's eye while he smirked as their arms were wrapped tightly around each other.


	13. Christmas

**Chapter 13: Christmas**_  
><em>

_- Scorpius -_

Hermione rushed up the stairs the moment the three of them had scrambled through the front door in much the same way as they had the night of Bill and Fleur's wedding. She ran with purpose, not panic, however, and when she reached the drawing room, the last remnants of the Polyjuice Potion were gone and she was herself again, in slightly over-sized and more professional-looking robes than she normally wore. She ran straight to the window, and Scorpius, who was the first to follow her, saw immediately what the commotion was.

There were three Death Eaters in the square outside, and one of them, Scorpius knew, had not been there that morning. Harry and Ron paled at the sight.

"He didn't—he didn't follow us?" Ron stammered. "He can't get in here, can he?"

The Death Eaters were talking rapidly between themselves and watching number twelve—though they could not see it—with a lot more interest than usual.

"No, it doesn't seem like it," said Hermione.

"That's Yaxley," Draco pointed out. "He's one of the saner ones—probably because he never went to Azkaban—but that just makes him more dangerous. He's no fool. How did he get here?"

"Harry had to stun him so—so we could get what we needed," Hermione explained. "He came to and realised what was going on just as we were leaving, and he grabbed hold of me as we were Disapparating. He was too strong—I couldn't shake him off—then we arrived here."

"At least we know the Fidelius Charm still works," said Harry.

"There was a flash, and then he just let go—it was like he couldn't hold on anymore."

"One problem though," said Ron, and everybody looked at him. "Now they'll know for sure that it was us who infiltrated the Ministry, and they'll know that we're hiding somewhere around here."

There was nothing to be done. Even with the increased danger of being spotted whenever they stepped outside, there was still no safer place to hide, and none of them could think of any way to throw the Death Eaters off the trail.

No one commented about the fact that both Draco and Scorpius apparently guessed where the other three had gone.

Then, a week later after dinner, when Draco was not present because Crookshanks had knocked a goblet of juice on his robes (Scorpius was sure that it was not an accident), Harry began in a business-like tone, "Scorpius." Ron and Hermione were staring at him with identical serious looks. The last time they had looked at him like that, Scorpius had ended up with a bloody nose; he knew what Harry was about to say. "We want to know if there's any chance you might reconsider—"

"I will reconsider on one condition," Scorpius said. "We talk alone—you and I—no interruptions."

Harry looked to Ron and Hermione, but neither objected. "All right," he said, and Scorpius led him up to the drawing room, performing Locking, Imperturbable, and _Muffliato_ Charms on the door.

"I always intended on helping you," Scorpius said quietly. "I'm not the type to just hide out and watch people suffer needlessly—not when I can stop it. Only, you haven't exactly made things easy, and I have to look after my family first, because if I don't, no one else will. The rest of the world can be someone else's priority; it isn't mine, and that will never change."

"There's nothing we can do for your grandparents, you know that, right?" asked Harry, a slight gentleness tinting his business voice.

"Yeah, I know," Scorpius sighed. "I'll help you." Harry released a breath. "On one condition."

Whatever relief was in his expression suddenly hardened as Harry replied, "What is it?"

"We let Draco in."

"No."

Scorpius stared at him intensely; he would not back down. "There's no point keeping it from him while we're all staying in the same house. He's not going to run back to Voldemort; he's smart enough to figure out that he'd be killed just for knowing about his weakness. And Draco knows a lot more about the Death Eaters than I do."

"Ron and Hermione will never agree," Harry argued. "Dumbledore didn't want me to tell anyone else about the Horcruxes; I don't even know how _you_ know."

"You never meant to tell anyone else, actually," said Scorpius, smirking. "Right at the end, without realising the extent of what you were saying, you happened to mention to Voldemort that there were no more Horcruxes in front of a room full of witnesses. You couldn't really deny it after that. But I thought we weren't taking orders from dead people? Don't trust him. Trust yourself. Get back to me when you've decided.

"And Hermione will agree," he added as he opened the door. "She trusts Draco. More than she trusts me, at least."

Kreacher called them both down for evening tea an hour later. There was a large leather-bound book on the table in front of Hermione, titled _Secrets of the Darkest Art_, and Harry was holding a huge golden locket between his fingers, almost at arm's length, as though he was repulsed by it. Ron was looking sulky; clearly, he had just lost an argument.

_- Draco -_

It was not long before Scorpius added a second condition: that he and Draco did not have to wear the locket. The others were quick to agree; they seemed to think that the Horcrux might more easily corrupt a Slytherin, but otherwise, they trusted them wholeheartedly.

"How are we going to get into Gringotts?" Draco muttered, not fully expecting anyone to hear him over the chatter about what to do next.

They held their meetings in the drawing room now, rather than the kitchen, so they could monitor the Death Eaters in the square outside (there was now a half dozen every day), in case the protective enchantments had somehow weakened.

"We're not," Scorpius answered. "We can't be sure that it's there, and even if it is, we don't know which vault it's in."

"The Dark Lord doesn't have a vault of his own," said Draco. "It would be entrusted to one of his most loyal followers—an old family, because he would want the most security possible." The chatter had stopped, and now the others were all listening to him. "I would bet my life that if there's a Horcrux at Gringotts, the Lestranges have it."

"It's still too risky," said Hermione. "And we don't even know how to destroy the one we've got."

"That's what the sword is for, isn't it? The sword of Gryffindor?"

Scorpius leaned back over the arms of his chair, as though bored. Hermione looked at Draco as though she was unsure whether he was an idiot or a genius. "But how can the sword destroy Horcruxes?" she asked.

Draco shrugged; he had not thought that far ahead. "Why else would Dumbledore want Potter to have it?"

"Gryffindor's sword was made by goblins," said Scorpius, in a tone that implied he was stating the obvious. "Harry killed a basilisk with it. The sword has imbibed the powers of basilisk venom; it can destroy Horcruxes."

"Where is it though?" said Potter.

There was a long silence before Scorpius conceded, in the same patronising tone, "Somewhere safe. I think—" he yawned; it was already into the early morning "—it will find its way to you eventually."

Weasley turned the lamps off and on with his Deluminator again for the ninth time that night. "You can't just tell us?" he said.

"It's out of our reach. We should start hunting down Nagini, and hope we run into a goblin in the process."

Draco was the first to find the flaw in that plan, "Would a goblin be willing to help us though?"

Scorpius raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't have to be," he said. "You can do the Imperius Curse, can't you?"

"You can't honestly consider that!" Hermione admonished, her eyes darting between Draco and Scorpius.

Draco smirked. "Thought you didn't like Unforgivable Curses?" Potter glared at him, reminding Draco of the last time he had used an Unforgivable Curse, and all the trouble it had caused. "No, we can't consider that."

"Don't be stupid," said Scorpius. "This is war. We don't have any other choice."

"Forget about the cup for now," Potter inserted suddenly, then he looked directly at Scorpius and demanded, "Where's the diadem? You said you know, and we know Dumbledore believed you."

There was a long silence before Scorpius muttered almost inaudibly, "I need to think about this." He stood up. Weasley made a move to stop him, but Potter said, "Let him go," and he stepped silently out of the room.

"Draco," Hermione started. "I hate to ask… but can you…"

"Get it out of him?" Potter finished.

"You're the only one he might listen to."

"Scorpius doesn't listen to anyone," said Draco, "except Snape, and maybe Shacklebolt." Hermione was looking at him expectantly; he sighed. "I'll try, but I'm not promising anything."

A minute later, he was in their bedroom, and though Draco wanted to sleep as much as Scorpius did, he pushed the topic, "You do know how easily they could slip you another dose of Truth Serum, don't you? All they'd have to do is find out what Shacklebolt did with the rest of it, or just make some more."

"But they don't want to resort to that, so they sent you here to persuade me to tell them willingly?" Scorpius guessed.

Draco hesitated. "Even if I could… I don't intend to persuade you to do anything," he said carefully. "But I don't understand why you don't want to tell them. It was you who insisted we all stop keeping secrets."

Scorpius gazed at him intensely; Draco held it for a long while until he suddenly felt a push against his mental shields. He blocked it, and still without looking away, Draco said, "What are you doing?"

Scorpius averted his eyes. "If I tell you where it is… will you swear not to tell them?"

They gazed at each other again, and this time Draco felt the push almost immediately. He wondered if Scorpius was aware that he was doing it.

"I won't tell them," Draco said, "as long as you don't want me to. I swear."

Scorpius turned and sat down on his bed. He reached for his little expandable pouch, and pointed his wand inside. "_Accio diadem_," he muttered, and to Draco's astonishment, a tarnished tiara appeared out of the opening. Scorpius grasped it as if he was terrified of letting it go.

"You have it," said Draco. "You've had it all this time."

"It was at Hogwarts. In the Room of Requirement. I had to get it before the Death Eaters took over."

Draco reached over to take a look at it, but it was not without reluctance that Scorpius handed it to him. He turned it over in his hands a few times, examining it closely. It was clearly hundreds of years old, and it had Ravenclaw's famous words, '_Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure_,' etched in tiny letters along the bottom. The longer he held the diadem, the more he could feel a disturbing presence, as though it were alive.

"So, you have it," Draco said, trying to sound nonchalant, "but you don't want to give it to them. What's the problem?"

"I don't know. I just feel like I shouldn't."

For a second, there was a fearful glint in his eyes; he seemed afraid that he had just admitted to something shameful. Draco could think of only one solution: "If Snape were here right now, what would he tell you to do? Think."

There was a short pause, then Scorpius said, "If I tell Harry about it, he'll make me give it to him. Snape thinks Harry is an idiot and barely capable of accomplishing this whole task. He'd probably think that if we can't destroy it right away, then the Horcrux is safest in my hands."

"But he thinks you're an idiot too," Draco pointed out.

Scorpius rolled his eyes and leaned back against his pillows, looking smug. "No, he doesn't. He thinks I'm an impertinent brat, which is probably true, but he happens to respect my intelligence."

He reached for the diadem; Draco had no choice but to hand it over, and within seconds it was back inside the mokeskin pouch.

"When we get the sword… you'll destroy it, right?" asked Draco.

"Of course."

"Where is the sword?"

"Snape has it. He'll find a way to give it to Harry soon enough, don't worry."

_- Scorpius -_

By October, they were all growing restless. No one knew where to begin looking for Nagini, or where to find a stray goblin, so they found themselves repeating the same conversations over and over, and Scorpius felt that he might go insane if he stayed shut up in that house for just one more week.

"We should go out," he said late one evening. "Borrow Harry's cloak and sneak into a Muggle bar or something."

"They'll find us," replied Draco. "The Dark Lord has ways of tracking his servants. And if the alternative is an establishment crawling with filthy Muggles, I think I'd rather stay here." Scorpius frowned; Draco added in response, "I'll make it up to you if we ever get home."

"Home…" Scorpius muttered.

Draco seemed to guess what he was thinking. "You don't have to stay here for me," he said. "I'll be all right."

"Time-Turners only work one way," Scorpius informed him. "I don't know how to get back."

"You're stuck here?" His eyes narrowed, and he looked at Scorpius in precisely the same way he had when he had seen him for the first time. "Why would you risk everything like that?"

"I told you months ago."

"You didn't tell me the truth," Draco said. "Testing some theory about time travel can't possibly be worth the risk of losing everything you know."

"I don't know," Scorpius sighed. It was starting to rain again. "I didn't think too much about it. Rose was the more practical one; she said there was no point in doing it unless we were absolutely sure that we could return to our original time, but then it crossed my mind that if there was a definite way back, then someone else would have tested the theory already." He paused; Draco did not seem satisfied. "Rose has a lot more to lose than I do."

They were starved for news, but it was not until late October that any contact from the outside world came, in the form of Kingsley.

Harry rushed down the stairs ahead of the others, wand held at chest level, because even after nearly two months they were still afraid that the Death Eaters might have found a way in. The noise of their footsteps woke Mrs Black's portrait, but Hermione was quick to spell the curtains closed.

They had been in the middle of yet another pointless planning session when Kreacher had popped up to inform 'Master Harry' that a man had entered the house. It was Scorpius who asked the security question (because no Death Eater knew anything about him), "What form does my Patronus take?"

"A white wolf, and you, Scorpius Malfoy, are the Secret-Keeper of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Have you left the house?"

"No, sir," Scorpius answered, trying not to sound sullen about it.

They moved down to the kitchen, and Kingsley dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet on the table, along with the warning, "You need to be careful."

There was little point in looking at the newspaper—it was probably flooded with lies, but Hermione still started to leaf through it.

"Why me?" asked Scorpius.

"Because Draco's got a five thousand Galleon bounty on his head, and you look almost exactly alike," Hermione said without looking up.

"I'm only worth half as much as Potter?" said Draco, glancing over her shoulder at his picture. It was right beside Harry's, and captioned, '_Undesirable No. 2_,' and he, like Harry, was also supposedly wanted for questioning about the murder of Albus Dumbledore. "And apparently I'm in league with him, too? This is insulting."

"You _are_ in league with me," Harry pointed out.

"Why is he worth so much?" enquired Scorpius. He found it odd that Draco did not seem surprised by the fact that he was the second most wanted wizard in the country, but no one answered him.

"How did you manage to get here?" Harry asked Kingsley. "I thought everyone in the Order was being followed."

Kingsley started to explain about the Taboo Curse that had blown his cover, but Scorpius was no longer paying attention. Draco had slipped his hand over Hermione's under the table—Ron could not see—and they were both still skimming through the newspaper together.

"Have you heard from Severus at all?"

Scorpius looked up, but hesitated to answer. Before he could make a decision, however, Harry said, "We know he's keeping the Carrows under control, and the D.A. is still going on." Draco glared at him, but he and Scorpius seemed to be the only ones confused by this revelation. Harry went on, "We've been communicating through the portrait in my room—Phineas Nigellus. He isn't very reliable, but it's all we've got."

The sword still had not made an appearance, and so Harry started to push the idea of going to Godric's Hollow. There were arguments and discussions, but as the weeks continued to pass, no one wanted to hide anymore. It was time for action.

"I still say it should just be me and Harry," Ron said during an early December planning session.

"Not this again," Hermione complained.

"Well we can't bring _them_, they're a liability."

"We've been over this already, Weasley," said Draco. "Death Eaters are most likely to attack in a group of two, four, or six. If there's _six_ of them, two or three of you won't stand a chance, but five of us will at least be able to get away."

"Do we have enough Polyjuice Potion for all of us?" asked Harry.

"We're all going, and that's final," said Scorpius. "With or without Polyjuice Potion. Or I'll sneak out one night and go alone."

Four shocked faces instantly darted in his direction. "Don't you dare," Draco said with finality.

In the end, they decided not to use Polyjuice Potion. An inconceivable number of factors and variables led to this decision, spanning across two more weeks of debate, but at its source, they knew that if Death Eaters happened to see them visiting James and Lily Potter's graves, no disguise would fool them. It was not worth depleting their stores.

_We're going to Godric's Hollow_, Scorpius told his Patronus, in response to Snape's message of, '_What are you up to?_'

Another doe appeared a moment later, and spoke, "_When?_"

Draco was asleep across the room. The house was silent and dark apart from the silver light of the Patronuses. Scorpius had the Marauder's Map propped up against his knees, showing the Headmaster's office, where Severus Snape sat alone at his desk.

_Day after Christmas, at dusk_.

It was much harder to produce a Patronus non-verbally, and took him at least two attempts each time, but Scorpius was in a hopeful mood. He was looking forward to going out, even if it was only for a short while.

"_Do not bring Draco. The Dark Lord can track him_."

He looked over at the other bed. Draco had said the same thing before, but he did not seem concerned about Godric's Hollow. What could it mean? Was Weasley right—were they really a liability?

_- Draco -_

The five of them were alone at Christmas, which was unusual; as Order members were continually forced into hiding, number twelve became a proper Headquarters again. Potter and his friends were no longer excluded from their meetings, and Draco thought that Scorpius refused to attend because the fact that they were not in the Order was the only excuse he had for blatantly disobeying Shacklebolt's order to stay within the boundary of the Fidelius Charm.

Draco was still just beginning to feel comfortable with the idea that his father was not infallible, but he had certainly been right about one thing: Dumbledore was an _idiot_ to put the fate of the entire wizarding world in the hands of three teenagers—and _Gryffindors_ no less. The task seemed so impossible that he often felt certain that they would never succeed, and sometimes he regretted his agreement to help, but if there was ever a chance to back out, he must have long since missed it.

The scene around him was perfect. Hermione was avoiding Weasley, as she often did when he had the locket. He still had not noticed that anything was going on between the two of them, as far as Draco could tell. He was sitting next to her on the sofa, and he longed to hold her hand, but that would have been far too obvious.

Potter was slowly nursing a goblet of Firewhisky; Draco had drank half of his already. Scorpius was on Draco's other side, leaning limply against his shoulder, already drunk and under a Silencing Charm to stop him talking about the future (he had almost told Hermione about his girlfriend). They were all just stupid kids, Draco thought; this mission was too big for them.

"It's past nine," Potter said, glancing at a gold pocket watch, then looking over at Weasley expectantly. Right on cue, Weasley slipped the locket over his head and handed it to him.

The Death Eaters that regularly staked out the area had dwindled to a group of four, but the curtains were closed, so their harmony was not disturbed by the impending danger that was just outside the enchantments. Only two of the oil lamps were lit, and a blue flame floated in a jar on the table, giving off heat. The effect was intoxicating.

Soon Potter set his goblet down on the table and announced that he was going to bed. Scorpius tried to say something that no one could hear; Draco pushed him off his shoulder. "Go," he said. "You're already falling asleep. I'll be there in a bit."

Scorpius could not walk on his own, so Potter tried to help him, but he was stumbling too. Eventually, Weasley decided to help, as he was the only one who had not touched any alcohol (he claimed that the Horcrux made him nauseas). Hermione watched them go, her eyes glassy and focused on Scorpius, then Draco realised that he was alone with her.

"Do you ever wonder why he doesn't seem to trust you?" she said. "I know he says he does, but whenever it's tested, he's always really hesitant about it. He doesn't tell you things unless he feels pressured to."

"He'd probably deny it if I asked him," said Draco.

"There must be a lot of mistrust in his family. He obviously trusts Harry—the one he knows—a lot more than even his own father. It must be because Harry told him things his father would never even talk about. I wonder if that has anything to do with why he came here."

She was a lot more talkative than usual with a bit of whisky in her. Draco liked it.

"If you did things you weren't proud of, would you be eager to tell your children all about it? Would you want them to know about all that's happening in the world right now?"

He did not want to talk about what was going on outside of their magical bubble of safety, but it was difficult not to be honest with her.

Hermione shook her head. "I wish none of this had to happen in our time," she whispered.

"And so do all who live to see such times," Draco added. He took a drink, and continued, "He doesn't talk a lot about his family. They're not close. The way he acts with me… it's like he's trying to make up for something he doesn't have with his real father."

A long moment passed, in which Draco realised that Weasley had not come back. He took another drink.

"Do you think alternate universes exist?" Draco asked suddenly.

"I know there are theories," said Hermione. "But even if other worlds exist, travel between them is supposed to be impossible. I don't see how he could have done it with an ordinary Time-Turner."

"What I don't understand is that things have already happened that he swears were different, and he may have already negated his own existence, but if this isn't an alternate universe, then why hasn't he spontaneously combusted yet?"

A seductive smile formed on her face. "Are you hanging on to the hope that you won't have to deal with another version of him?"

"I don't think I could handle being responsible for the upbringing of _any_ of that woman's spawn."

The smile grew wider; it was almost mischievous. "Really? Who is that woman?"

"Astoria Greengrass. Pure-blood Slytherin, two years younger than us. Apparently I bore her to death, probably because I have no interest in ruling a country populated by talking animals, or finding out if there really is a ruling Ring of Power, or whatever nonsense goes on in her head. I know he gets his insane ideas from her."

Hermione started half laughing, half choking on her drink. Draco took the goblet out of her hand and placed it on the table. She looked into his eyes with intense glee, and finally managed to say, "I can't believe you read Tolkien!"

Draco brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face and started to recite, "One Ring to rule them all…"

"One Ring to find them," they continued together, "One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."

They rolled onto the floor, curled up in a tangled mess, and Draco finished in a whisper, "In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie."

Hermione turned her head to look toward the curtained window, as though Tolkien's poem had reminded her of the Death Eaters that were still outside watching. "They can't see us," Draco told her. Their faces were inches from each other.

"I know," Hermione muttered, and when she turned back to look at him, suddenly, out of nowhere, Draco kissed her.

"I don't want to live a lie," he said, "ever." He kissed her again, clumsily. He knew he was drunk, but nothing seemed to matter other than the present moment. "I think I love you."

* * *

><p><strong>If you are confused about the time travel aspect:<strong> In chapter 1, Snape states that Scorpius' Time-Turner is 'not ordinary,' which Scorpius naively misinterprets. Snape implies that an ordinary Time-Turner would work only along a single time line. Scorpius' Time-Turner does not have that restriction, so instead of winding back 26 years in his own time line, it sent him to a parallel universe that is 26 years behind. I know it doesn't make sense, but trust me, it really doesn't have to.


	14. Godric's Hollow

**Chapter 14: Godric's Hollow**_  
><em>

_- Harry -_

Harry was glad that Ron was still asleep when he walked into the drawing room the following morning. Ten minutes had passed since then, and he and Hermione were now sitting side-by-side on the carpet. Draco was asleep directly behind them; Hermione had levitated him onto the sofa. Harry could tell that she was glad he had woke her up.

She held out her hand for the locket; Harry gave it to her, and she slipped it over her head, then with a slightly mischievous grin, Harry asked quietly, "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Hermione rubbed at the back of her neck. She was not hungover, but falling asleep on the floor tangled with a Slytherin boy must have been uncomfortable. She took a long time to answer, "I'm scared for him."

It was not the type of answer that Harry was expecting, but he did not enquire further.

"I know he was drunk, but… he said, 'I think I love you'—Harry, what if he meant it?"

"Do you love him?" Harry said, feeling foolish. It was strange to hear Hermione asking him for advice, especially about romance.

"That's not the point," Hermione said, then she quickly looked over her shoulder to check that Draco was still asleep. His hand slipped over the edge of the sofa, and she took it. "Being on the run," she continued, "cut off from the outside world, it's easy to forget about our regular lives."

"You don't think he's really changed?" Harry asked this question more for his own benefit than hers; though he pitied Draco, as he would any of Voldemort's victims, he still found it difficult to forget more than five years of mutual loathing.

"He hasn't," said Hermione. "He admits it, and that's what I mean. He's used to hiding his feelings out of fear. It's obvious, isn't it? He's been a prat all these years because he was jealous of us, and terrified of disappointing his father."

_Jealous?_ thought Harry. "What would he be jealous of _us _for?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Think about it," she said impatiently. "You're famous, Ron has a loving family…"

She hesitated; Harry filled in the blank, "You have the highest marks in our year."

"And we all have loyal friends. He has none of that, or at least not until recently. As much as he is reckless, Scorpius has been a positive influence on him." She squeezed his hand, and a sad smile crossed her face. "Draco, when he's not hiding his true feelings, and when they're not clouded by jealousy and fear… that's when he's different."

"What about Ron?"

"Don't tell me to choose between them, Harry," said Hermione quietly, "because I'm afraid of who it will be."

"Draco."

"I love Ron. I know I do, but I don't _need_ him. Draco and I, we bring out the best in each other. But don't you see? He's not brave. When all this is over, he isn't going to be able to face his father and tell him that he's in love with a Muggle-born."

A long moment passed. Harry stood up to open the curtains for something to do, then after a few seconds hesitation, he decided it would be best to leave Hermione alone with Draco before the latter woke up.

He felt tense, as though he knew that something bad was about to happen, but he could not be certain of what. He met Ron on his way up the stairs, still in his too-small pyjamas.

"Have you seen Hermione?" he asked. "She's not in her room."

"Kreacher's making breakfast," said Harry. "Try the kitchen."

It was like hiding his feelings for Ginny all over again. Ron was his best friend; he should not have been keeping anything from him, but at the same time, he did not want to hurt him. The rational side of his brain argued that whatever was going on between Hermione and Draco was neither of their business, but that did not stop him from feeling like an accomplice to some dishonourable crime.

The plan was to leave just after sundown, so they ate dinner early. It was the perfect illusion of normalcy: Kreacher had made a delicious steak and kidney pie with treacle tart for desert, Hermione was sitting beside Ron and across from Draco, and no one was talking much. Maybe everything would be all right after all.

Hermione finished first. "I'll be back in a minute," she said, standing up. "I left my bag upstairs."

Draco rose as well, and for the first time, Harry noticed Scorpius giving him a knowing look (though he was sure that was not the first time that Scorpius had given him that look).

"Where are _you_ going, Malfoy?" said Ron.

"Bathroom," Draco muttered curtly.

Harry sensed that Ron did not believe him any more than he did, but he waited until they had disappeared through the kitchen door before following.

"I wouldn't follow them," Scorpius said.

"Then don't," Ron retorted.

The door was left open. Hermione stood at the end of the dimly-lit hallway, in front of the staircase, her back toward them. Her fingers were intertwined with Draco's, and his other hand was around her waist. Then Draco caught Ron's eye and Harry saw his face light up in a look of unmistakable triumph. For a split second, Harry knew what was going to happen before it did: Draco leaned his head forward and kissed her.

Time stopped, then seemed to start up again in slow motion. Hermione must have noticed Draco's smug expression; she turned around and caught sight of Ron watching them. It was like waiting for a bomb to go off. Then, so slowly that it almost looked hesitant, Ron turned away and started back toward the kitchen.

For a moment, Harry again thought that things might turn out all right, but then Draco caught up and said something to Ron so quietly that Harry had to strain to hear, "How does it feel, Weasley? To be—"

He never finished. In one fluid movement, Ron had turned back around and punched him hard in the face. Draco staggered backward into the kitchen door. Harry half-expected a fight to break out immediately, but Draco did not even try to hit back. He rubbed at his face, wincing, then turned down the stairs. Harry followed, looking back only briefly to close the door once the shouting started. He hated when his two best friends bickered.

Scorpius calmly poured Draco a glass of pumpkin juice. Mrs Black's portrait had already been ripped out of the wall and banished to the attic, so if they listened closely, they could just barely make out the words spoken in the hall.

"You kissed her, didn't you?" Scorpius guessed, looking at Draco's face (he was now sporting a black eye).

"He was bound to figure it out eventually," said Draco. "I thought I'd help. He's an idiot. Just listen."

They listened; Ron could be heard shouting, "_D'you think I haven't noticed you two disappearing behind my back? D'you think I haven't guessed what you've been up to?_"

Smirking, Draco continued, "He's up there breaking her heart just so she can run crying into my arms. A little counterproductive, I think."

"You know, insulting him isn't going to make your life any better," Harry said, giving him a meaningful glare.

"Shut up, Potter." He glared back. Hermione was definitely right about his jealousy issues.

"This sort of interferes with our plans," said Scorpius. "Aren't we supposed to be leaving soon?"

"_You_ started it," Harry said, looking pointedly at Draco.

"So?" he replied.

"Go end it," said Scorpius. "Take the Horcrux off Weasley and hit him with an _Obliviate_ so we can get out of here for the first time in _more than six months_."

Draco headed back to the entrance hall, but the moment he opened the door, it seemed the row was already at its end. They could hear Hermione perfectly now, and her voice was cold as ice. "Go, then. If you can't handle it, then leave. Go home."

"Yeah, maybe I will."

Everything was silent for a few seconds; Harry could imagine Hermione staring him down, waiting to see if Ron would act.

"Leave the Horcrux," said Draco.

"I get it. You choose him."

There was another dead silence, then a door slammed.

…

It happened just as Draco had predicted. They were sitting on the lower steps of the staircase, and Hermione was sobbing into his shoulder. The locket was cast aside on the floor. Harry picked it up and slipped it over his head, then muttered to Hermione, "I'll get your bag."

He found Hermione's beaded bag, and retrieved his Invisibility Cloak at the same time, and when he returned, she was smiling. "Thanks, Harry," she said as he handed her the bag.

"Cheering Charm," Draco explained. His black eye had been fixed.

"Are we going?" said Scorpius, sounding half impatient, half excited.

They were delayed almost half an hour already, but they were going. Hermione performed Disillusionment Charms on all of them, and they Disapparated in pairs—first Hermione and Draco, then Harry and Scorpius—because only two of them could comfortably fit on the front step at once, and there were still four Death Eaters outside. Harry and Scorpius took the cloak for added protection.

_- Scorpius -_

They held hands because it was difficult to see each other under the Disillusionment Charms, which Scorpius thought were pointless while they were under the Cloak of Invisibility. Hermione and Draco were somewhere ahead; if he strained his eyes, he could see them through the falling snow.

Scorpius had his wand out and was whispering a spell to solidify the snow in front of them, so they left no footprints. It was like walking on a sheet of plastic.

They had just passed the Potters' graves, but Harry was still gripping his hand as though he thought he might die if he let go. Then Scorpius saw something black and cone-shaped sitting on top of a tombstone near the low iron fence. "Harry, look," he muttered, pulling Harry toward it. "Is that—?"

Harry saw it too, and they hurried over to the edge of the graveyard so excitedly that they forgot about freezing the snow.

"The Sorting Hat," said Harry. "How did it get here?"

"Harry, the sword. The sword is in the hat." Scorpius shrugged the cloak off and picked up the Sorting Hat. He held it out to Harry. "Only a true Gryffindor can get it out."

Harry did not take it. "You try," he said. "You're the one who found the hat."

"Keep an eye out for Death Eaters," said Scorpius as he slipped the hat on his head and it fell over his eyes.

'_Ah…_' said a voice.'_You've been wondering if I put you in the right house?_'

_No_, he thought back.

'_But you have doubts, I see… It's all right here, in your head._'

_Enough doubts to earn the sword of Gryffindor?_

'_Well, no, not Gryffindor, but I stand by what I said—or what I _will_ say, I suppose… you would have done well in Ravenclaw._'

He tore the Sorting Hat off his head and told Harry, "I asked. Hat said no. Your turn."

Harry put it on, and though he should have been looking out for Death Eaters, Scorpius could not help but watch him expectantly. Then after a moment, he took it off. No sword. Their Disillusionment Charms had faded enough that Scorpius could faintly see confusion on his face.

"It said, 'I don't think you need it quite enough,'" Harry explained.

"Let's keep going, then. Maybe we can find your parents' old house."

Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak back over their heads. They did not need to hold hands anymore, so he held the Sorting Hat in one hand and his wand in the other. Scorpius resumed preventing footprints.

"Hang on," said Harry. "Where are Hermione and Draco? Their charms should have worn off enough for us to see them by now."

They were almost at the gate. Scorpius looked around, but he could not see anything unusual. "They must have thought we were right behind them and gone ahead," he said. There was a lump in his throat. He knew that if Death Eaters found them, splitting up was a bad idea. "Maybe I should send a Patronus."

"No," Harry replied. "It'll draw too much attention. We'll catch up with them later. I want to find Bathilda Bagshot." He had been acting bitter ever since they had happened upon Kendra and Ariana Dumbledore's tombstone.

"I told you before, I'm sure she's dead already."

"No one's found her body or anything; we can't know that for sure."

They walked on, and soon found the ruins of the Potters' cottage, where Lily and James had been murdered. Harry smiled at the graffiti on the sign. "Have you been here before?" he asked Scorpius suddenly.

"I haven't. Al has though. He told me about it."

Harry froze. He was staring at a woman moving slowly toward them, and Scorpius immediately knew why. She was not old—she was _ancient_, and she seemed somehow able to see them. She stopped in the middle of the road, and raised a shaky hand to beckon them.

Harry took a step forward, looking at her, and then he _hissed something_. Scorpius shot him a frightened look and squeezed his wrist. The woman nodded and beckoned again.

"She wants us to follow her," said Harry.

"Are you sure about this?" Scorpius muttered nervously.

"She might know something."

"I don't think so."

But Harry was determined. Scorpius had no choice but to follow back down the lane and through the overgrown garden of another cottage. An intense odour flooded the house as they entered; it smelled like rotten food, or a rotting corpse… Scorpius held tightly onto his wand.

Harry pulled off the cloak, looked at the tiny woman—who resembled a rotting corpse as much as she smelled like one—and he hissed again.

The woman nodded, and disappeared into a sitting room.

"Harry," Scorpius said, sounding not only nervous but alarmed this time. "I'm still not completely convinced she's alive."

He heard another hiss from the next room.

"It's okay," said Harry. "Come on."

Scorpius grabbed Harry's wrist again, holding him back. "Wait." He thought hard. Was it possible that Harry did not realise what he was doing? "You said something to her a moment ago, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"You were speaking Parseltongue."

Harry's mouth fell open, then he clutched the Sorting Hat tightly.

"There's no way You-Know-Who would have left Godric's Hollow unguarded, and we didn't run into any Death Eaters…" Scorpius said, deducing the same thing that Harry probably was.

"Well, come on then. This might be our best chance."

Scorpius swallowed fearfully, then Harry led the way into the sitting room, where 'Bathilda' was clumsily lighting candles. The scene, and knowing what she really was, gave him an eerie feeling in the pit of his stomach. Harry stepped forward and this time Scorpius heard something distinctly antagonistic in his hiss.

It happened all at once. The old woman's dead body crumbled and out through her neck, Nagini emerged and struck. Frozen behind Harry, Scorpius could only watch as the Sorting Hat fell to the floor, and in its place, Harry pulled up a shiny sword with rubies in its hilt.

The great snake whipped him across the stomach with its tail, slamming him into a side table. It slithered across the dust-covered floorboards toward Harry and coiled its long, thick body around his middle.

"_Relashio_!" Scorpius shouted, finally realising what to do. He repeated it, and the snake was repelled. Harry slashed two-handed with the sword, but Nagini was quicker. Her teeth sunk into his shoulder.

The room seemed to suddenly grow clearer to him, and as Scorpius watched Harry struggle, blood starting to trickle down his arm, he realised he was not at all afraid anymore.

He aimed carefully and cast, "_Reducto_!" The spell distracted Nagini for only a second, but it was long enough for Scorpius to pull Harry away, and Harry swiped at her with the sword. Blood spilt out and she swung back. Ominously, a spark from a fallen candle lit one of the old fabric sofas.

Scorpius raced up the narrow staircase, pulling Harry with him. The snake followed at their heels. She struck both of them at once; they were cornered against a window as Nagini moved in for the kill.

"Don't let go of me," Scorpius said, surprising even himself with how calm he sounded.

"What are you doing?" said Harry.

There was no time to answer. He aimed at the ceiling, and then the floor, in quick succession, shouting '_Confringo_!' each time, then nonverbally, he blasted the window with a Reductor Curse and pushed himself and Harry through the shattering glass.

Scorpius could not move a muscle. He was lying on his back in a bed of snow. His cheek stung and bled where a shard of glass from the window had cut him. His wand had fallen a few inches from his fingertips. Harry was pressed on top of him, the sword of Gryffindor still clutched in his right hand, his sleeve stained with blood where Nagini had bitten him.

"Are you okay?" Scorpius asked weakly.

Harry gave him a stoic grin. "All right. What about you?"

"I can't move. Think I might've broken something. Doesn't matter. The snake—is it dead?"

The house behind them was half caved-in, and rapidly catching fire. They could see no movement from inside.

"I know I saw the ceiling hit it when I did the floor, but we had better be absolutely certain."

Harry pushed himself up to a sitting position with noticeable difficulty. His right arm limped, but he did not let go of the sword. "Can you get up at all?" he asked.

The pain started to recede as Harry's weight was lifted off him, but still Scorpius could barely shift any part of his body without excruciating discomfort. The cold snow underneath him was soothing, however.

"Go check if it's dead. We have to be sure," he said. "I'll be all right in a minute. Where's the cloak?"

"I dropped it," said Harry. "The hat too." He stood up, limping, then started to look around, but there was nobody else out on the street. "All right. I'll try to be quick. Send a Patronus to Hermione if you can."

_- Harry -_

Harry pulled out his wand and blasted the front door of Bathilda's cottage to dust, then called out, "_Accio Sorting Hat_." The aged hat zoomed toward him from the burning sitting room, miraculously in one piece. The Invisibility Cloak, Harry knew, was impervious to the Summoning Charm, so he cast _Aguamenti_ as powerfully as he could, extinguishing the flames, occasionally pausing to blast debris out of his way. The flickering fire and the explosions of his curses were the only sounds he heard.

He found the snake only a step away from where he had dropped the cloak. A severed piece from a floorboard stuck out from her unmoving body. The yellow eyes appeared lifeless, but Harry stabbed right down through the middle of her head with the sword, just be certain. He draped the cloak over his arm, then something caught his eye.

Most of the furniture was blackened or destroyed, but in one corner that Scorpius' curse had missed, and where the fire had not yet spread, sitting on top of a small bookshelf was a copy of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ that would have looked brand new if not for the holes and black spots on the cover from stray sparks. Harry picked it up, and a note written in acid green ink slipped out and fluttered to the floor. He ignored it and headed back out the empty door frame.

"Harry!"

Hermione was running toward him from the other end of the lane, where the Potters' cottage was, holding Draco's hand, and holding her wand in the other. She looked frantic. "Thank goodness you're all right!" she cried. "We've been looking all over for you. We've got to get out of here."

"What happened?" asked Harry, but Hermione had just noticed what he was holding.

"The sword," she said. "You got it. And the _Sorting Hat_?" She looked him up and down, seeing the rip on his jacket sleeve, the blood, and the limp in his walk, and her eyes widened. "What happened to you?"

"Nagini," Harry said. "She's dead. Scorpius killed her."

"Where is he?" said Draco, his voice shaking.

Harry walked over to the side of the house, to the spot where he and Scorpius had landed after jumping out of the window, but it was empty, and it was only then that he noticed footsteps in the snow that were not his own.

His heart raced. How long had he been inside the house? He strained to remember if he had heard any suspicious noises, but nothing came to mind.

"Where is he, Potter?" Draco repeated.

"He was here," Harry said, avoiding his gaze. "He was injured. He told me to go back and make sure the snake was dead. I left him right here. He said he'd be fine."

Hermione was staring blankly at the depression in the white blanket of snow, and the ominous footsteps leading toward it but not away. Her face was ghostly pale.

"You left him alone," said Draco in a tone dangerously devoid of emotion. "He was injured. And you left him alone."

There was a knot in his stomach. Something had happened that they knew and that Harry did not, but he was sure that he could guess. The fact that Hermione no longer seemed concerned about leaving Godric's Hollow was a telltale sign that the Death Eaters had already been there, and left thinking that they had got what they had come for.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked Hermione.

She started to explain, "After we left the graveyard, we came down this street, and then…" She looked at Draco, but he said nothing. His body was shaking, and Harry knew that it was not from the cold. "We were surrounded by half a dozen Death Eaters. The Disillusionment Charms held up, thankfully, so we managed to lose them, but they'd seen us, and we knew they were looking for Draco… We started looking for you, but they didn't know you were here, and we were hiding, so I didn't want to call out… I tried to send you a Patronus message, but I—I couldn't…"

Everything went silent for a second, then Draco spat, "Why did you leave him alone?"

"He told me to!" Harry defended.

"He obviously wasn't thinking properly!" Draco's face distorted; he looked anguished. "You _know_ he can do a Patronus; you should have sent for one of us, and waited!"

"I left my cloak inside; they would have seen me and got us both!"

"Stop it, both of you!" yelled Hermione.

"If they kill him, you're dead, Potter."

"Draco!"

They were silent again, but Harry and Draco were glaring at each other. Then, feeling an overwhelming need to do something about his anger, Harry dropped everything in his left hand, and yanked the beating locket over his head.

"What are you doing?" said Hermione, but Harry was not listening.

He held it up by the chain, glared at the serpent-shaped 'S,' and hissed, "_Open_."

For a split second, he was certain that the Horcrux would put up a fight, but Harry never gave it a chance to. He threw the locket down and stabbed it hard with the sword before it made contact with the snow.

Hermione and Draco were now staring at the empty remains. Harry picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket, then collected Rita Skeeter's book, the Sorting Hat, and his cloak. He felt stunned, but oddly lightheaded at the same time.

"We've got to go back to Grimmauld Place," said Hermione.

"We can't go back to Grimmauld Place," said Draco. "Scorpius is our Secret-Keeper."

"He won't tell them. You didn't see him fight that snake. He's tough. He's probably already working out an escape plan."

"They were looking for you," Hermione pointed out, her eyes meeting Draco's with concern. "How long will it take them to realise who they've really got?"

"Not long. He _looks_ like me, but I don't know how good his acting skills are, and he doesn't have the Dark Mark."

Hermione pulled Draco over to where Harry was standing. "They don't know he's our Secret-Keeper," she said. "We've got to go back and alert the Order."

Harry deposited the sword and hat into Hermione's beaded bag, then threw the cloak over the three of them. They grasped each other's hands and Disapparated at once.


	15. Pt3: Home

**PART THREE**

**Chapter 15: Home**_  
><em>

_- Scorpius -_

The last thing Scorpius remembered was some badly-aimed spell skimming the surface of his chest; it must have knocked him briefly unconscious. Now there were arms holding him up by the shoulders, and forcing his feet forward. He could not yet open his eyes, or move any part of his body, for the Stunning Spell seemed to still be in effect, though it had weakened enough that he was aware of the happenings around him.

The ground below him was rough, and somewhere in the distance, he heard a fountain. It was so familiar… He was shoved through a door, and now a carpet muffled his footsteps and the others on either side of him. He felt sure of where he was, and his body tensed as he started to regain control of it.

His captors pushed him through another door, and he heard a cold feminine voice, "What is this?" then a gasp, and that was when he opened his eyes.

"Draco?" Narcissa Malfoy hurried toward him just as another figure rose from a chair behind her, and she pulled Scorpius into a tight embrace. The Death Eaters that flanked him appeased her, but Scorpius knew they were watching him closely.

"Where is the Dark Lord?" one of them spoke. "We have brought him the traitor. Is he here?"

Lucius, now standing beside Narcissa, exchanged a subtle glance with his wife, then he said in a voice empty of emotion, "He is."

They started to discuss which of them would go to inform the Dark Lord. Lucius was first suggested, but it was ultimately decided that the Malfoys should both get to enjoy their last moments with their traitor son (the other two jeered and laughed), and Wormtail was called instead.

Scorpius had been stiff the entire time, not trusting himself to move or speak, and avoiding his grandparents' eyes at all costs. Narcissa must have felt that something was amiss, because she cupped his chin in her hand, and then as she took in the details of his features, her eyes widened and she backed away from him. Her husband moved his gaze instantly from Scorpius to Narcissa, but he was the only one who seemed to notice anything unusual.

He was pulled further away by one of the Death Eaters just as he heard her whisper, "It's not him, Lucius," then the temperature of the room seemed to drop a few degrees as Lord Voldemort entered.

Another woman entered behind him, and stared at Scorpius with disgust on her face. Wormtail scurried off to watch from a safe distance, while Voldemort stepped toward Scorpius. The Death Eater that was holding him pushed him forward, making him fall onto the floor at Voldemort's feet.

"Draco Malfoy," he said softly. "You tried to escape me. You failed in your task, and you ran to avoid my punishment." His tone was calm, but there was no mistaking the anger in his words.

Scorpius felt paralysed with fear. He could not move or speak, and the only thought in his mind was that Voldemort must not find out that he was not Draco. He was certain that Voldemort intended to kill him, but he knew he would die either way, and if he had to die, then it was better that he would not first be questioned about the future.

He opened his mouth to make up some lie, but in a sharp tone, Voldemort interrupted, "I do not need to hear your excuses." He went on with the same smoothness as before, "I am, however, interested in how you managed to stay hidden for so long. You must have had help. Tell me, Draco."

Scorpius opened his mouth slightly, but he could not think of any acceptable response. His throat felt dry, and his back was still aching from the fall earlier in the evening.

"My Lord, perhaps I can loosen his tongue?" the second woman spoke.

"It will not be necessary, Bella," said Voldemort coldly. He took a step closer, and commanded to Scorpius, "Look at me."

Scorpius kept his gaze fixed to the floor.

"My Lord." It was Narcissa who interrupted this time, and with the exception of Scorpius, all eyes in the room turned to her. Voldemort must have gestured to express his permission for her to speak, because she then continued, "My Lord, that's not my son."

Scorpius chanced a look at her pale face, his eyes pleading desperately, _No… don't say that…_but the damage had already been done, and then she went on, "It looks like him, but that's not Draco. My Lord, I know my son. That isn't him."

Voldemort turned his attention back on Scorpius, reaching over and tilting his chin up, forcing him to make eye contact. Scorpius tried to close them, but his eyelids seemed to be frozen in place.

Miraculously, his fear seemed to work to his advantage. It was easy to hold his shield while there was already no thought in his mind, but he felt that Voldemort was only skimming the surface for recent memories; it was almost a dismissive attempt.

"You are hiding something from me," said Voldemort. "Show me your left arm."

Terrified, and knowing that he would be forced into submitting one way or another, Scorpius raised his left arm and held it out. Voldemort pushed the sleeve of his robes up to his elbow, and for a moment he merely stared, brushing a long white finger against the exposed flesh. There was no Dark Mark.

Voldemort looked up in anger at the two Death Eaters who had brought Scorpius to him. Both men bowed their heads as if bracing themselves for chastisement, but Voldemort said nothing to them. He turned back to the boy.

"So, you're not Draco," Voldemort said. "But you were willing to take my punishment for him. You helped him to escape me, didn't you?"

"No," said Scorpius. "I didn't!" His whole body trembled as he realised that he had not spoken a word to lead to that accusation; Voldemort must have read his intention.

"Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, boy!" Voldemort hissed. "Where is Draco?"

"I don't know!"

Voldemort raised his wand in a quick, fluid motion, and pain like Scorpius had never felt before engulfed him. He forgot everything; all he could do was scream. When it stopped, he was sprawled on the floor with his knees up to his chest and his hands in fists.

"Tell me where he is."

"No," Scorpius panted. "I'll never tell you."

"Then perhaps I should kill you."

He crawled back into a sitting position and said recklessly, "Do it then."

A minute passed, while Scorpius glued his eyes shut, waiting for another curse, but Voldemort did not strike. "Not yet," he said smoothly. "Lord Voldemort is merciful. I will give you time to reconsider your decision."

"There's no need," said Scorpius. "I don't want your mercy. I'm not going to tell you anything."

Anger flashed in Voldemort's blood-red eyes at the blatant disrespect, but all he said was, "We shall see… Lucius, fetch me a Sleeping Potion."

_- Draco -_

He searched the room from top to bottom, despite knowing from the beginning that what he was looking for was not there. Scorpius would never have left it lying around. He had the diadem with him.

Crookshanks squeezed in through the half-open door and jumped up on his bed, as Draco shoved the last of their possessions into his trunk and forced it shut. Hermione appeared then; he did not have to look to know that it was her.

"Are you ready?" she asked quietly.

"_Reducio_." His trunk compressed to a tenth of its regular size. "Where are we going?" he replied.

"Here." Hermione held out a scrap of parchment. He turned around, took it, and read, '_The safe house of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Shell Cottage, Tinworth_.'

A small tear slid down his cheek that he made no attempt to brush away, and as soon as he handed her back the parchment, he knew she had seen it. It was almost sunrise, but no one in the house had slept.

"Don't tell me he'll be all right."

"He _won't_ be all right," said Hermione. "He'll be lucky if they kill him quickly. And the only person who's to blame for it is Voldemort."

He shuddered at the sound of the name, but this time, it was more out of hatred than fear. "Thanks," he muttered. She had said exactly what he needed to hear—because it was _him_ who they had mistaken Scorpius for—it was _his_ Dark Mark that they had traced. He had felt it burn.

Hermione touched the parchment with the tip of her wand, and it started to disintegrate. She stuffed Draco's trunk into her beaded bag that seemed to hold an infinite number of items. She was not dressed like a Muggle—she rarely was, lately. Instead she wore old-fashioned but pretty robes in bright apple-red, and her hair was tied back in a loose plait. She cradled Crookshanks in her arms, and stepped out of the room ahead of Draco.

He closed the door behind them slowly, surveying the lofty ceiling and the two empty beds for one last time, then Hermione suddenly asked, "What do you think?"

"About what?" said Draco.

"You know Scorpius better than any of us."

He looked over the railing to the entrance hall below, where there was a small crowd of Order members, including Potter and Weasley, waiting for them (Weasley had come back an hour after they had returned from Godric's Hollow, shouting apologies and claiming that he didn't care if Hermione preferred Draco; Hermione's forgiveness was ambiguous—she seemed rather indifferent to him.) There was a long silence before Draco replied, "Yeah, he's tough, but… everyone has a breaking point."

_- Scorpius -_

He woke up on a hard concrete floor. It was so dark that there was barely a difference when he opened his eyes. He could not tell where he was. The place had a damp, musty odour; the air was cold, and the floor was freezing. He pushed himself up; as soon as he lifted his right ankle, he heard the crinkling of a chain, and realised he was shackled to something. He pulled the hood of his robes over his head, and crossed his arms, shivering.

Then, quite suddenly, Scorpius heard the sound of a heavy door being pushed open, a short distance away. He lied back down and closed his eyes, figuring it was probably safer if whoever was approaching thought he was still asleep.

He heard the rustle of robes against the floor, and quiet steps, but they did not seem to be moving toward him. He then heard a high, clear voice, "Identify this." His tone was emotionless, but there was no doubt that it was a command.

A hoarse cough could then be heard, as though someone who was very weak and perhaps ill was trying to clear his throat. "I do not have all day, Ollivander," Voldemort said.

"Ten and three quarter—" another cough "—inches long. Flexible. Sycamore and dragon heartstring. I do not know who it belongs to; it is very curious…"

"Explain," Voldemort pressed.

"It looks like one of my wands, but I do not remember making it," the old man said weakly; his voice was merely a hoarse whisper.

"How is that possible? Perhaps you are becoming senile, and therefore, useless," said Voldemort dangerously. Scorpius suddenly felt terrified, despite the fact that the words were not directed at him.

"I swear, I do not know!" the old man pleaded. "I remember every wand I ever made or sold…"

He heard Voldemort turn away then, and hoped that he was leaving. Scorpius did not dare open his eyes. "Sleep while you can, young one." Voldemort was suddenly standing right next to him. Scorpius gasped in surprise, and his pretence of being asleep was broken, but Voldemort did not seem concerned. "I will deal with you later."

"Scorpius?" Voldemort had left, and now someone else was whispering to him.

He could not see, but he knew that voice. "_Luna_? Where are you?"

"I'm right here." She sounded closer this time. He tried to move toward the sound, but the chain tied him to the wall; he could manage only a few feet of distance. Then he felt a soft hand touch his arm, and it seemed that Luna was sitting down beside him. "I knew it was you. Your nose is a little different—from Draco's, I mean."

"Luna, what are you _doing_ here?"

"Well, I'm a prisoner, of course."

Scorpius smiled slightly, though he knew she could not see. "Yeah, I figured that much," he said. "But why? What did you do to upset them?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "They didn't say. They took me off the train on my way home for Christmas and brought me here. It must have been about a week ago, I think."

Scorpius started to feel around inside his pockets, trying to figure out how badly he had been searched. He touched his face, and realised that the cut on his cheek was gone—he did not seem to have any injuries at all, in fact. His wand was gone, and so was his mokeskin pouch that held his Time-Turner and the diadem Horcrux. They had allowed him to keep his watch, at least. He touched it and whispered, "_Light_."

An aqua green glow emitted from the silver watch face, illuminating their faces. Luna's cheeks were sunken; she looked thinner than the last time Scorpius had seen her, and her hair was matted in places. Scorpius looked down at his wrist and saw that it was nearly noon on the twenty-seventh of December.

"So, how do we get out of here?" he asked.

"Scorpius, we can't." She sounded crestfallen. "There's no way out. I tried. Mr Ollivander has been here a long time; he's tried everything."

"He's going to kill me," he whispered. "And if he finds out what I know… I can't let him. I need to escape, or die trying."

"The only way out is through the door," Luna said. "But it's always locked except when someone comes down here, and I don't know what's beyond it."

He looked around, but he could not see far with only the tiny back-light from his watch. There was a jug near him filled with clear water. He could not see the door, or Ollivander, but the stone floor tiles were familiar.

"I think this is our cellar," he said. "We're still in Malfoy Manor."

…

"So how long is he planning to keep me here?" Scorpius asked the Death Eater who had come to check on the prisoners.

He received no response. "There must be a limit to how much time I've got to reconsider my decision—surely you can at least tell me that."

The Death Eater gave a nasty grin and answered, "About as long as you can survive without food."

Several hours had passed since he had woke up in the cellar. Luna was lying down nearby, her head resting on her arms, either asleep or pretending to be. It was feeding time, but there were only two dishes of bland-looking food.

"What does he want from me, anyway? I don't know anything important," he said nonchalantly, fishing for more information about his situation. The Death Eater once again did not respond.

The water jug was refilled with an _Aguamenti_spell, and then the Death Eater said, "It might interest you to know that we're allowed to hurt you if we feel like it."

"Is that a warning or a threat?" The Death Eater let out a twisted laugh in response. "I don't need it either way," said Scorpius. "I know he's going to kill me."

He was, of course, far more terrified than he wanted them to believe. If there was no chance of escape, he had at least hoped for a quick and painless death, that would ideally be over with before Lord Voldemort could figure out exactly who he was, but nothing ever seemed to turn out how he hoped.

"You want to start talking now?"

"I've got nothing to talk about," Scorpius said coolly.

The Death Eater disappeared through the heavy door and back up the stairs without another word.

"You really shouldn't provoke them," said Luna. She had not been asleep. "They're just big bullies, but they do have wands."

She took her dish of food and offered some to Scorpius, but he did not take it. He could tell already that the prisoners were fed no more than what was sufficient to keep them alive. "The Dark Lord won't let me starve to death," he explained. "It's not his style. This is just slow torture."

It was boring, being a prisoner. Luna taught him everything about nargles and crumple-horned snorkacks that they had not had time for back at Hogwarts. He told her the entire Star Wars story, including the prequel trilogy. It was comforting to talk about things that did not matter.

He talked to Ollivander only once. Ollivander had asked if it was his wand that Voldemort had forced him to identify, and then he had asked where Scorpius had got it from. "I think we can both agree that it's better if he tortures _me_ for that information," Scorpius had told him. Ollivander was weak; he could barely move, despite not being chained to anything. Luna was the only one with free mobility inside the cellar.

Feeding time was twice each day, at approximately seven o'clock. It was a different Death Eater each time—which was unusual; Luna said she had only seen Wormtail before Scorpius had arrived—but they would always ask Scorpius if he was ready to speak with the Dark Lord. On the morning of the twenty-eighth of December, he lied down on his back with his hands behind his head and knees bent, and simply said, "Never."

That evening, however, he was so bored that he looked straight into the man's twisted face and said, "No, I'm not. What's the point of this, anyway? I'm not going to break, and I know _Lord Voldemort_ is not going to let me starve to death, so you might as well just tell him to kill me and—"

The Death Eater made a sudden slashing motion with his wand; a searing pain centred in his upper arm silenced Scorpius immediately. He felt winded. The little energy he had was rapidly draining. His robe was torn and already soaked through.

"If this kills me…" he managed to say, "the Dark Lord will… have your head."

Scorpius had already forgotten that he had practically asked to be killed, but despite his warning, the Death Eater made no move to fix him. Instead, Scorpius heard, "Give it up, brat. You won't win."

The cellar grew dark again. He was aware of his robe coming off only because it was so cold, then something pressed against his wound, like it was desperate to hold the life inside. Some time passed—it could have been minutes or hours—then water was being poured into his mouth; someone was helping him drink. It took him a long time to realise that it was Luna, but when he did, he smiled, though he knew that it was too dark for her to see.

_Give it up…_ The mission—the test—was a failure. He was going to die. He had ended up just like his father. But there was still a question pressing in his mind, one that he needed to answer before it was too late…

'_You still haven't forgiven him, have you?_'

Just as he remembered the question, he felt as though he was in that room again—the one that he and Al had either created or discovered; they could not tell—round, with the blue painted floor, and the windows that showed them places their curious minds had only read about.

But it was Rose, not Al, who was with him that time—_she_ had asked the question, and his response had been, '_Why should I? It's not like he just forgot to mention it. He thinks it's over, but it isn't. Just because he managed to avoid having his name written down in books, it doesn't mean people don't know what he did._'

Then their ideas—which anyone else would think were crazy, but to them, they were brilliant—had started bouncing back and forth…

'_Sometimes I wonder if… well, it's obvious that Voldemort was a megalomaniac tyrant—not to mention a hypocrite, but… history is always written by the victors, and I can't imagine he would have so many followers if his ideals were all wrong…_'

'_Maybe it wasn't the philosophy that was wrong, but rather the methods used and the leader chosen. When it comes down to it, would you rather be a witch, or a Muggle? It's not even a question. Magic is might._'

'_Because witches and wizards can do everything that Muggles can do, and more. Technically speaking, we _are_ the stronger species._'

He had started playing with the silver chain on his Time-Turner—the _restricted_ one he had used from third through fifth year for his classes—when the idea had occurred to him…

'_Just imagine a world without Muggles… a world where everyone is capable of magic… Do you think there could be such a place?_'

'_If the Theory of Alternate Universes is correct, there might be_.'

That was it. The moment everything began. Scorpius had said, '_So, let's test it._'

They had discussed it. Not the fine points yet—those would be ironed out over the following months—but the basic plan—the how, when, why, and what were all decided during that hour, like it was something they had both always wanted to do but never talked about before.

Then Rose had said, '_You realise if the theory is wrong, we might cease to exist?_'

He had been lying down on the west side of the room, gazing at the cathedral-like ceiling with a mischievous smirk on his face. '_I doubt that. Well, we wouldn't spontaneously combust, I don't think. More likely, things would just happen the same way regardless of how hard we try to change it. Maybe we already did it, got caught by the Ministry, and everyone who knew us had their memories wiped._'

'_You're making this sound like a really dangerous idea._'

'_Time travel _always_ has an element of danger, even if you're just going to Muggle Studies class. Even if we fail in the end, it'll be worth it. I want to see what he was like back then. It's the only way I'll be able to forgive him—and I want to be able to trust my father again_.'

…

There was no way to measure how much time was passing. Sometimes he was aware of Luna beside him, her soft thigh under his head, and cold water running down his arm… and sometimes he was lost in dreams that felt like memories, or memories that felt like dreams, but he still had not found an answer to that question.

He heard footsteps approaching, and then the distinctive sound of his chain being removed, but he kept his eyes closed and made no move to pull himself up. He was not ready to answer. He needed more time.

"Come with me, boy," said a voice that sounded a thousand miles away.

"Wh—what?" Scorpius mumbled tiredly.

The man grabbed his arm—the one that had been cut—and pulled him to his feet, but he could not keep his balance without support.

"The Dark Lord wants to see you."


	16. A Game

**Chapter 16: A Game**_  
><em>

_- Scorpius -_

He was dragged up stairs and down hallways that seemed endless, then the Death Eater let go of Scorpius, allowing him to fall dizzily to the floor, and bowed. His vision was blurred, but he saw something move toward him, then the Death Eater who had brought him left, and the door behind him closed seemingly of its own accord.

"Get up, boy. Stand up," Voldemort said softly.

Scorpius did not move. He sat on the floor, his heart beating rapidly against his chest, his breathing heavy. He felt lightheaded.

"If you do not want to stand and face me like a man," said Voldemort, "then you are much easier to break than I expected. Where is the defiance you showed me the first time we met?"

Slowly, Scorpius summoned all the strength he possessed to push himself to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. Voldemort seemed satisfied, as though this was the reaction he had anticipated.

"Very good," he said quietly. "You know where Draco is hiding, don't you? Tell me."

"No. I won't," Scorpius whispered, looking anywhere except at Voldemort's face.

"Of course you won't. You killed Nagini."

To his own astonishment, Scorpius smirked. "Yeah, I guess I did."

"Tell me why," said Voldemort.

"She tried to kill me first."

"I see… Now tell me something else: Why are you so determined to protect Draco from me?"

Scorpius closed his eyes. There was a long pause before he answered, "I'd rather you kill me than him."

"So, you won't tell me where Draco is because you think I'm going to kill him?"

He blinked. The little strength he had in his legs was beginning to leave him, and he slumped against the wall, but Voldemort closed the distance between them and pulled him back up by the collar of his shirt.

"Aren't you?" Scorpius asked.

"I might," Voldemort said lightly. "You seem to know that I do not have mercy for those who betray me—and I _will_find him. If you wish to save your worthless friend, you would be wise not to make it difficult for me."

_It's a trick_, Scorpius told himself. _He can't find Draco without me, and if he does find him, he'll kill us both anyway_. "I'm not stupid," he said. "If there was any chance you wouldn't kill him, you'd just leave him alone. You wouldn't want to find him so badly."

He slumped farther down the wall, and again Voldemort pulled him back up forcefully. He raised his wand, and Scorpius screamed.

The pain lessened in intensity after an immeasurable moment; he stopped screaming, but his body writhed in agony, and soon his mouth began to form words. "Stop..." he begged. "Stop it... _please_..."

The curse was lifted, but he felt weaker than ever. "That hurts, doesn't it?" said Voldemort, a slight sneer in his voice. "For what you did to Nagini, I should rip you limb from limb, however… I am offering you mercy, if you cooperate. Tell me, where is your friend hiding?"

"No..." Scorpius whispered. He could not stand on his own anymore; Voldemort held him up, the long yew wand pressed under his chin; the tip burned into the centre of his throat.

He was again hit by the Cruciatus Curse, and this time he spoke almost immediately, "No... please stop..." Voldemort did not comply; he only lessened the pain to an intolerable throb.

"There is no need for you to suffer. Just answer me."

Until then, he had pushed all thoughts of Grimmauld Place to the back of his mind, but now he allowed them to surface, and he answered in a low, broken voice, "The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Twelve Grimmauld Place, in London."

The pain stopped immediately, and the wand lowered.

"Twelve Grimmauld Place..." Voldemort repeated slowly. "The Headquarters of the Order... You are sure of this, boy?"

"No," Scorpius answered honestly. "If they know I've been captured, he would have been moved by now." He hoped that he was right, but Voldemort did not look happy.

"But you are certain that the Order of the Phoenix is hiding him?"

"Yes."

"Where would they have moved him to?"

"Please..." Scorpius whispered. "I'm tired..."

Voldemort seemed to study him for a moment, his blood-red eyes piercing Scorpius' mind, then incredibly, he kept his promise of mercy. "I suppose a small reward is in order," he said softly. He let go of Scorpius and let him slide against the wall down to the floor.

"Leave this room," Voldemort hissed, "and you will regret it." He turned and swept away.

Scorpius wanted to escape—he really did, but he had no wand, and no idea what would be waiting for him outside the room. No—he would never make it; Voldemort would not have left him alone if there was any chance he could get far.

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, hoping to succumb to sleep, when it dawned on him that even though he had given Voldemort the secret, Scorpius was still the Secret-Keeper, which meant that Voldemort would not be able to tell anyone else about Grimmauld Place—he could only go there himself. He hoped that the Order had moved, and that Draco was somewhere safe.

It was dark in the room, but warmer than the cellar. There was a desk nearby, and somewhere in the back, a fire burned. He listened to the crackling of the flames like it was a lullaby, then a sudden _pop_ attracted his attention.

A tray had appeared in front of him, laden with a bowl of tomato soup and two thick slices of bread. With no thought as to whether it might be poisoned, Scorpius drank half of the soup in one gulp, and was surprised to find that it was perfectly heated and clearly homemade. This was not the type of food fed to the other prisoners.

Suddenly, the door swung open and Voldemort returned, a look in his eyes that might have been either annoyance or heavily controlled fury. Scorpius stiffened but did not look at him; he knew what Voldemort wanted.

"It appears there is a problem with your information. What do you think that might be?" Voldemort said dangerously.

"No idea," Scorpius lied, playing with his spoon.

"Why am I unable to inform my Death Eaters of the location you have given me?"

He hesitated a moment, then figured that Voldemort would realise it on his own anyway. "It's protected by the Fidelius Charm," Scorpius said.

"Then you are the Secret-Keeper?" There was something in his tone that made him sound too interested in that particular detail; Scorpius did not like it.

Still, he had no choice but to answer, "Yes."

Voldemort drew his wand—Scorpius flinched at the sight of it—and conjured a quill and parchment in front of him. "Write it down," he ordered.

Scorpius stared at the blank parchment, a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that still felt empty. Noticing his hesitation, Voldemort said, "I could put you under the Imperius Curse and force you to obey me, if you would prefer."

Scorpius felt his eyes widen with fear. He did not know if he would be able to fight the Imperius, but he knew it was not worth the risk to try. He picked up the quill and wrote, '_The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix can be found at number 12, Grimmauld Place, London._'

When he finished, the quill vanished and the parchment floated into Voldemort's hand. Within seconds, he was once again alone in the room. Still starving, he finished his soup and bread, and the empty tray then promptly disappeared. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. When no further interruption came, Scorpius drifted off to sleep.

_- Draco -_

Shell Cottage could not have been any more different from number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Draco was lying down on his bed, listening to the sound of waves crashing against the side of the cliff just beyond the garden.

There were only two spare bedrooms in the tiny cottage. Draco and Weasley had both refused to share with each other, which sparked a small argument that had ended with Weasley volunteering to sleep on the sofa in the living room so Hermione could have her own room, and Draco had ended up with Potter.

He did not mind. Potter was the one who kept Phineas Nigellus' portrait, and that was the only way they had to contact Snape. The canvas was blank at that moment. They were waiting—well, Draco was. Potter was getting dressed for the day, as though Snape's latest update meant nothing to him.

Finally, Phineas returned, and giving the boys a scornful look, announced, "Headmaster Severus Snape says that the Dark Lord is now staying at his Headquarters full time. It is impossible for anything to enter or leave without his knowledge."

"He still hasn't found out if Scorpius is telling him anything?" Potter replied.

"Potter, he's brave, but he isn't stupid," said Draco. "Of course he's talking." His voice broke slightly, because he knew that Potter had a point; Scorpius would not give away their secrets easily. But though he hated the Dark Lord, Draco secretly did not care if Scorpius told him everything he knew, as long as he somehow made it out alive.

_- Scorpius -_

Scorpius was sleeping comfortably. After days of deprivation, it was nice to have something in his stomach, and to relax on a soft, clean surface. He stirred, and pulled the thin blanket tighter around himself.

"_Nothing there… He won't be pleased…_" he heard faintly, but the words held no meaning.

"_What's with the kid?_" He noticed only that this was a different voice, and it sounded closer.

"_The Dark Lord said to let him sleep._"

Scorpius smiled, feeling exhausted. Sleep was all that he wanted to do. He turned over on his stomach, and soon drifted back into a pleasant dream.

Some time passed, then he woke up, and noticed that he was on a sofa in the drawing room. There was a fluffy pillow under his head, and he was dressed in clean pyjamas. _He_ was clean. He probably should have felt violated, but he was too bewildered to give proper consideration to his privacy.

He rubbed at his eyes. Black robes were laid out on the nearest chair to him, neatly folded. There was a bandage tied around his arm, just below the sleeve of his t-shirt, where one particularly nasty Death Eater had cut him. It still hurt, so he resolved not to touch it.

The sun was beginning to set through the high windows; he must have slept most of the day. There was no one else in the room, apart from a Death Eater whom he recognised as Yaxley, who was sitting on another sofa opposite him and appeared to be absorbed in paper work. He looked up briefly as Scorpius rose to his feet.

It was then that he noticed the black metal bracelet around his right wrist, nearly two inches wide and at least a quarter inch thick. It was tight, and there was no indication of how it might be removed; it was obviously charmed in some way, and he dreaded to imagine what its purpose could be.

Seeing no reason not to, he changed into the robes, and was surprised to find that they fit him perfectly. He wondered if someone had taken his measurements and had them tailored while he was asleep, and again he was too bewildered by the idea to feel any outrage at the lack of respect. Then a tray of food appeared on the table in front of his sofa—scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, fresh fruit, and cold pumpkin juice. His circumstances seemed to be improving by the minute; he smirked at the incredulity.

"What's this thing on my arm?" he tried asking Yaxley between mouthfuls of food, indicating the metal bracelet.

"That's none of your concern," said Yaxley, in his rough voice, barely sparing him a glance. He looked up again a second later, and added, "Eat quickly. The Dark Lord has requested your presence." He had a heavy, brutal-looking face, and wore robes of a dark forest green that looked too fancy to be comfortable.

"Forgive me if I'm not looking forward to more torture," Scorpius replied.

Yaxley gave a harsh laugh and said, "It wouldn't be necessary if you'd just cooperate. You're a pure-blood, aren't you?"

"Hmm…" He took a sip of his juice. "So what if I am? You think that'll stop him from killing me? He doesn't care. Did you know he's a half-blood himself?"

Yaxley did not reply, but gave him a look that indicated he was not going to trust the word of a prisoner.

"You don't believe me," Scorpius said, then he tried a different angle, "How can you follow someone who's so unnecessarily cruel?"

"One more word and I'll drag you straight to him immediately."

Scorpius resumed eating silently, deciding not to challenge his threat. It was not until he was finished, and Yaxley had started shoving him toward the stairs, that he said, "Really, why do you do it? History has indicated over and over that dictatorships _always fail_. When someone inevitably kills him, do you think 'just following orders' is going to keep you out of Azkaban?"

He received no response, and a moment later, he was back in that darkened room on the second floor, alone with Voldemort. Scorpius gulped; he knew already that Draco had not been found, those pitiless red eyes were telling him so, and he would have to face the consequences for giving faulty information.

Voldemort pulled him toward the desk, and sat him down on the wooden edge, so their eyes were almost level with each other. He then brushed aside the sleeve of Scorpius' robe and started to untie the bandage. The skin underneath was red and tightly stretched; it appeared that the wound had been forced to close before it was completely healed. Voldemort traced it with a spell; the colour faded, and the pain finally left.

"You do not need to suffer," he said quietly. "If you do as I ask, and answer my questions, you will be rewarded."

"I don't know where Draco is," Scorpius said, meeting his gaze, hoping Voldemort would see that he was telling the truth.

"We shall deal with the matter of your traitorous friend later."

"He didn't betray you," Scorpius blurted out suddenly, a desperate attempt to keep the topic of conversation off himself. "It wasn't his fault. I convinced him to seek protection from the Order. He wouldn't have done it otherwise."

"Tell me your name."

_No_, Scorpius thought. _I can't_. But he was certain that Voldemort would force it out of him somehow; it was becoming increasingly obvious how helpless he was.

"Just your first name. What harm could it do?"

"Scorpius."

"You are very brave, Scorpius. You would make a very valuable Death Eater," Voldemort whispered. "Why would the Order of the Phoenix make you their Secret-Keeper?"

Scorpius did not know how to answer, but it did not seem like Voldemort was expecting him to. "What are you hiding from me, Scorpius?" Again, he stayed silent. "Do you want me to kill you?"

"You're going to do it anyway."

"If I was going to kill you, I would have done so already," Voldemort said casually. "I do not have patience for my enemies."

"No, you're lying. You're keeping me alive because you still think I have valuable information for you. Well, I don't, so you might as well just kill me now."

Voldemort laughed. "Scorpius, I can torture whatever information you have out of you easily, and if that fails, as I have already told you, I still have the option of using the Imperius Curse—or perhaps you should avoid consuming any liquid while you are here as I may decide to slip you Veritaserum."

There was nothing he could say. He was completely powerless. He gripped the edge of the desk so tightly that his knuckles turned white, wishing he could run.

"I do not wish to hurt you," Voldemort said, watching him with a predatory gaze that suggested the opposite. "You could easily be a high-ranking Death Eater. You could have more power than you can possibly imagine. If it is protection for your family that you seek, they will all be spared as well. All you have to do is swear your allegiance to me."

Scorpius shook his head; the familiarity of Voldemort's tactic seemed to instill a new confidence in him. "Your manipulation isn't going to work on me," he said. "I know you're a remorseless psychopath; nothing you do or say will ever make me trust you."

He should have stopped. Any sensible person would have stopped right then, but Scorpius continued, "You're pathetic. You're no different from Grindelwald, Hitler, Darth Sidious, or Martin Chatwin, who all failed because they pushed the wrong person, or went just a little too far. You're going to make one stupid mistake, and it's going to cost you everything."

There was a tense moment when he finished, while those horrible red eyes stared at him, then Voldemort cast a curse and Scorpius felt his left arm break in three different places at once before he was thrown roughly to the floor.

Minutes passed. He cradled his arm, but no position was comfortable; he could not lessen the pain. Voldemort merely watched him, a sense of satisfaction in his gaze.

"I am tired of playing the fool," he then said. "I have been patient with you. I have overlooked your impertinence and allowed even blatant disrespect to go unpunished. Do you think this is how I treat all of my prisoners, Scorpius?"

Scorpius whimpered slightly but otherwise did not respond.

"Answer me," Voldemort pressed.

"No," Scorpius whispered. "I know you don't," he added quickly, fearing that Voldemort would interpret a simple 'no' as a refusal to answer.

"Let's play a game. Right now your arm is broken in three places. For every one of my questions that you answer honestly, I will mend one. If you lie, or refuse to answer, then I will break every bone in your body one by one. _Three questions_is all I will ask you, if you answer truthfully, then you may rest as long as you like. Shall we begin?"

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Who is your father, Scorpius?"

"No, please! I can't tell you that!" Voldemort raised his wand instantly; Scorpius barely had a second to brace himself before he felt his right leg shatter, and he could not stop himself from screaming in pain.

"You are certain you do not want to answer?"

His eyes started to water, desperate, but Voldemort was through with showing mercy. He raised his wand for another curse. "Please wait!" Scorpius cried. "Let me think!"

He needed to weigh his options, to decide if it was worth it to answer, but Voldemort would not give him a chance. He screamed again as his wrist cracked under the metal bracelet and his hand fell limp.

"Perhaps an easier question…" Voldemort said smoothly, "why are you so determined to hide such a simple fact?"

"The answer… would only lead to more questions… that I can't answer…" He felt faint. His breathing was shallow and his words were forced.

"Better," Voldemort commented as he mended Scorpius' left forearm with one lazy flick of his wand. Scorpius was in so much pain that it barely made a difference, however.

"Why do you insist on making things difficult?" Voldemort started, but before he could continue, Scorpius quickly answered, "Don't like being controlled."

"That was a rhetorical question; it does not count."

"You're cheating!"

"If further questioning is what you want to avoid…" Voldemort picked up where he left off, but Scorpius was no longer listening; he was using this chance to think. "…you would be wise to answer this time." What would happen to him if he continued refusing to answer? Would Voldemort kill him? "I will not repeat myself."

"No," Scorpius decided. "You'll have to kill me."

Voldemort broke his knee, and this time, he could not bring himself to stop screaming; it was almost worse than the Cruciatus Curse.

Voldemort turned away and started to walk slowly toward a tall cupboard that stood in the corner behind the desk. He slid open the door and reached for a tiny bottle of clear liquid, then he again walked slowly back to Scorpius and waited for his cries to subside.

After some long minutes, the pain finally dulled enough that he noticed in horror the bottle that Voldemort was holding between his long white fingers: Veritaserum.

"Does this mean you are tired of our game, Scorpius? Shall we end it now?" Voldemort taunted.

He could not speak through the pain, but he managed to passably shake his head.

Voldemort placed the bottle on the desk, and said, "This is your last warning. One more lie or refusal, and I will use the potion. Now tell me who your father is."

He tried to answer, but the words would not come; he was still struggling not to cry out. Voldemort waited this time, and eventually, Scorpius managed to stammer, "My f—father is… Draco Malfoy…"

Voldemort mended his leg with a deliberation that almost looked thoughtful. "I see…" he said quietly. "But you must be near the same age as Draco… Time travel, then?"

"Yes," Scorpius whispered.

Voldemort healed his wrist and the next question came immediately, "What year are you from?"

Another faint answer, "Twenty… twenty-three… January." The pain in his knee finally left him and he felt noticeably better, at last. He no longer cared about the potential consequences of his information; answering made the pain go away, and in his present state of mind, that was all that mattered.

Voldemort looked away from him and began to slowly pace back and forth. This gave Scorpius time to think, and he dreadfully realised that Voldemort was putting more and more pieces together. He did not want to imagine what his next question might be.

Then he opened the top drawer of the desk and removed Scorpius' mokeskin pouch. "Empty it," he commanded, dropping the pouch on the desk. "Take everything out and place it here. I will count this as your final two questions, and then you may go."

"I can't. I won't," Scorpius breathed.

Voldemort would not resort to Veritaserum; they both knew that was useless for anything other than direct questioning. Instead, he did not waste a second in pointing his wand at Scorpius and casting, "_Imperio_!"

The feeling was blissful. He forgot about the pain in his left arm; he forgot everything. Then a gentle thought prodded his mind, _Empty the pouch. Take everything out._

He began to pull himself up slowly. He reached for the pouch with his unbroken right hand, while his left was numb and limp against his side, but then another thought interrupted, _No. I can't let him see what's in there._The numbness was replaced with an uncomfortable sting as he thought this.

The stronger thought returned, _Empty it. Just empty it._Voldemort watched, satisfied, as Scorpius began to take everything out and place it all on the desk, one at a time.

Subconsciously, he started with the least important things: the two textbooks, his little bag of Galleons, the last of his supply of Polyjuice Potion, his Time-Turner… Finally, he grasped the diadem Horcrux, then stopped. _I can't. Not _this_._

_Take _everything_ out._

Slowly, he pulled it out and placed it on the desk, then turned the pouch inside-out to prove that it was empty, and Voldemort lifted the curse.

Scorpius stared in horror, then backed against the wall as he once again became conscious of the pain in his left arm. His eyes flooded with tears.

"It is terrifying, isn't it, not being in control of your own body?" Voldemort said softly. He took his time healing Scorpius' elbow and upper arm while he continued, "I am not going to tolerate any more disobedience from you, Scorpius. Now that we know you cannot resist, perhaps I should keep you under the curse and send you back to your friends."

Scorpius spotted a gaping hole in that threat instantly, and contrary to the tears leaking from his eyes, he smirked and replied, "You wouldn't do that. If I go back, that's the first thing they'll check for. They'd break it and then you'd lose me."

"Very clever. Then I suppose I shall have to force you to kill the Lovegood girl…"

"No!" Scorpius shouted. "Not Luna. Please, I'll do anything…"

"Kneel before me," Voldemort ordered.

Scorpius dropped to his knees and bowed his head, his whole body shaking. He was thankful for an excuse not make eye contact, because all he could think was that he needed to get Luna out as soon as possible.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Martin Chatwin is the antagonist in a book called _The Magicians_ by Lev Grossman, which I highly recommend (it is a more adult version of _Harry Potter_ and _Chronicles of Narnia_). Darth Sidious, of course, is from the Star Wars films.


	17. The Escape

**Chapter 17: The Escape**_  
><em>

_- Scorpius -_

Scorpius was scared. He thought Voldemort would have tortured him and demanded an explanation immediately after seeing the diadem; the last thing he had expected was no reaction at all. It was almost as if Voldemort had already known—or suspected—that he had it, and if that was the case, how much more had he figured out?

He was left in the drawing room again, but he was alone this time, sitting on the sofa where he had slept the previous night. His blanket was still there, neatly folded with the pillow on top, and his pyjamas laid out on one side. Voldemort had told him to wait there, adding in a remarkably casual tone, "Do not attempt to escape."

But he was alone, so close to the front door, and Luna was right below him… He would need his wand, but now he knew where it was… but Voldemort was surely heading back there… there was one short cut, however… if Scorpius could get there first…

He did not waste a single second. The moment he thought of the short cut, Scorpius ran straight to the drawing room door and opened it.

The hallway was deserted. He hurried down to the second portrait on the wall—one of almost-life-size twin girls—and brushed his hand along the edge of the frame, whispering, "I am a Malfoy by blood and name, open."

The portrait swung open, and he slipped into the passage. It was pitch black. He ran a short way to a steep and narrow staircase and began to climb up, moving along a few twists and turns, not stopping even to breathe until he reached a flat wall; he touched it and whispered, "Open."

The hidden door slid to the side at his command. Scorpius stepped out into the second-floor hallway, then—

"_Imperio_!" He had forgotten that Voldemort could Apparate.

His mind floated, all worries and all thoughts of escape cast aside. He sank to his hands and knees on the floor and bowed as low as he could at Lord Voldemort's feet. The words, '_Do not move_' entered his mind, then Voldemort lifted the curse and waited a short moment, but Scorpius did not dare move out of the degrading position.

"Where are you going, Scorpius?" asked Voldemort.

A moment passed. He tried to recall his mental faculties—to think of any acceptable answer…

"Bathroom," he lied.

"Scorpius, if that were true you would not be sneaking around trying to avoid detection. It is useless to try to escape from here. Even if you are lucky enough to obtain a wand, you will never reach the gate."

"I wasn't—"

"If you lie to me again, boy, I shall have to punish you," Voldemort snapped. "I suggest you tell the truth."

"I just wanted my wand back," he answered, hoping a partial truth would be enough. He did not want to admit that he had been trying to escape after Voldemort had specifically ordered him not to.

Voldemort began to circle him slowly, then Scorpius could hear footsteps approaching from the other end of the hallway, but all he could see was the floor in front of him and the hem of Voldemort's black robes. He still had not been given permission to get up.

"Take him to the cellar," Voldemort ordered.

"As you wish, my Lord," a second, astonishingly familiar voice replied.

"No! I don't want to go back there… please…" Scorpius protested, knowing he could not save Luna if he was trapped in the cellar with her. "I won't try to escape, I promise!"

The approaching footsteps stopped.

"Please, _what_, Scorpius?"

It took him a moment to figure out what Voldemort meant, then with much reluctance, he muttered, "Please, my Lord."

"Continue to cooperate, and I will let you out later."

…

Scorpius was rapidly getting annoyed. The Death Eater that had grabbed him was shoving him against the wall every few steps on purpose, and he could do nothing to fight back. Finally, when they had reached the drawing room, the Death Eater's grip started to slacken, and then he abruptly let go, and his companion led Scorpius down through the passageway to the cellar alone. He did not light his wand, so Scorpius could see nothing through the darkness, then they stopped at the heavy metal door. The Death Eater let go of him.

Scorpius pressed the face of his watch and turned on the back-light, but he caught only a glimpse of Snape's face before he was turned around and slammed into the wall, and Snape said in a hushed but firm voice, "Idiot boy! Turn that off now! If he reads your mind and sees me talking to you, he will suspect."

"Okay!" Snape was still holding him in place, so he had to cross his arm uncomfortably to touch his watch again, whispering, "_Light off_." Snape loosened his grip and turned him around, and Scorpius muttered, "That hurt."

"The Dark Lord does not hurt you?" Snape scoffed.

"Well, I thought _you_ would be nice to me… Don't you know what I've been through?"

"I told you not to bring Draco outside of the Fidelius Charm!"

"I'm sorry!" Scorpius replied. "What was I suppose to tell him? This isn't my fault… You were there, why didn't _you_ do anything?" He was crying again—well, not crying really; he did not sob, but rather, a salty liquid seemed to be leaking from his eyes with no obvious trigger. It felt strange.

"Stop it," said Snape, his hands resting on Scorpius' shoulders. "We haven't got time. What have you told him?"

"He knows who I am."

"I noticed—what else?"

He struggled to think, but through all the torture and his desperate attempts to resist, it was difficult to recall exactly what was said. "He Imperiused me, twice. I couldn't fight it off. He made me write down the secret for Grimmauld Place. He's got my Time-Turner."

He paused; he could not remember any more. Snape said, "Listen. I am supposed to watch you for three hours. You cannot escape during that time; he would blame me. He is leaving soon. You need to stay quiet until eleven o'clock, then I will be able to send a house-elf to get you out."

_He's leaving?_ thought Scorpius. "What if he comes back before then?"

"He will not return until some time after midnight. The Death Eaters have been told to summon him only for an emergency. If you stay quiet and well-behaved, you will be safe."

Snape unlocked the door with a tap of his wand and started to push it open, but Scorpius interrupted, "Hold on… Do you really think he can read my mind? I've been trying my hardest to block him out."

"You let your guard down too easily when you are distracted. If he has been torturing you well enough, he has probably gleaned a lot more information that what you've actually told him."

"One more thing…" Scorpius said quickly. "He's not the same Dark Lord I read about, I'm sure of it. He's so much more controlled. The one I know wouldn't be dragging it out so much; he would have killed me already. Is he actually trying to recruit me?"

"He is," Snape said as though it were obvious. "If you gain his trust, he might let you go. But considering he can tell when you're lying to him, I would not suggest that as an escape option."

Scorpius turned his light on again the moment he heard the lock click behind him, then his vision was obscured by matted blond hair; Luna was hugging him.

"Scorpius!" she gasped. "You didn't come back… I thought you were dead."

"I'm all right. Don't worry, we're getting out of here," he told her.

They sat down against the back wall. The chain that Scorpius had been shackled with for three days was still there, and his robe that he had taken off was piled beside it. He was already cold. Luna was looking at him with a piercing gaze, and he knew why: he did not look at all like he had been tortured.

"You're not all right," she said suddenly.

It took him a long time to think of a response; he debated whether he should admit the truth or be strong for her. He chose the latter, and said, "I am. I look fine, don't I?"

"It's your expression," said Luna. "Remember when we first met? You were sad and lonely, just like you look now."

"I don't want to be a Death Eater," Scorpius muttered. "I really, really don't." He took Luna's hand, and their fingers intertwined. "Don't worry. I'll get us out of here, I promise. But… just in case something goes wrong… there's something I want to do first…"

Her lips looked almost purple in the bluish light, and there was a spot of dirt on the side of her cheek. It was not a romantic setting, and Scorpius knew that he felt nothing for Luna like what he felt for Rose, but still, it was something he just felt like doing: he kissed her.

"Oh," Luna said.

"Sorry. I just needed to do that once."

They waited. It was the longest three hours of his life. They must have played over a hundred rounds of rock-paper-scissors when it was finally eleven o'clock, but still nothing had happened. Another ten minutes passed, then twenty… twenty-one… twenty-two…

_Crack_. Dobby the house-elf had Apparated into the cellar, and addressed Scorpius in a quivering voice, "Dobby has come to rescue Harry Potter's friend, sir."

He had only just finished speaking when they could hear a man's voice from directly above them saying, "What was that noise? Did you hear that?"

"It came from the cellar," a second voice said. Then there were footsteps.

"Dobby, we have to be quick—can you take Luna and Mr Ollivander too?"

Dobby nodded, his large ears flapping. "You must read this." He handed Scorpius a strip of parchment that had been hidden inside one of his wool socks.

Scorpius internalised the name of the location as rapidly as possible—the Death Eaters were already at the stairs—then he handed the message to Luna, who woke up Ollivander.

Dobby disintegrated the parchment with magic, then grasped one of Ollivander's hands. He held the other out to Luna and Scorpius; they both took it, and Scorpius thought only of Shell Cottage, then Dobby turned on the spot… but nothing happened.

"What's wrong, Dobby?" said Scorpius.

"Dobby doesn't know. Dobby cannot Disapparate."

Scorpius glanced down at his hand, and just as he caught sight of the black metal bracelet around his wrist, he understood what the problem was. "It's me. It's this thing he put on my arm. You can't Disapparate while touching me." He let go of the elf's hand. "Hurry and go—they're coming."

"Scorpius, no—I can't leave without you," Luna whispered.

"I'll be fine. Dobby, go!"

It worked this time; with another loud _crack_, Dobby, Luna, and Ollivander vanished. Scorpius turned his watch light off just in time—the next second, he heard the lock click, and two Death Eaters burst into the cellar—one large and blond, the other dark-haired with a mean-looking face. They held their wands out in front of them.

For a moment, everything was quiet. Scorpius closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, while the Death Eaters surveyed the near-empty cellar. Then someone kicked him sharply in the side of his chest.

"You—boy—what happened? Where are the other prisoners?" said the huge blond Death Eater, his voice shaking with something that sounded like fear.

"I don't know," Scorpius said, coughing. "I didn't see anything."

"You little liar—what did you do?" the dark-haired Death Eater yelled. "_Crucio_!"

Scorpius screamed as the curse struck, and he backed against the wall, though there was nothing he could do with two wands trained on him.

"I didn't do anything. I swear," he said, but they would not listen; they were _trying_ to pin the fault on him.

"Tell me the truth! You let them out, didn't you? _Crucio_!"

Another excruciating burst of pain hit him. "All right, all right, stop!" Scorpius pleaded. "I'll tell the Dark Lord what happened. I'll take the blame for it. He'll punish _me_."

The two Death Eaters looked at each other briefly, then the blond said, "Should we summon him?" He definitely sounded scared now.

_Yes_, Scorpius thought. _Summon him. He won't like that at all…_

"No," replied the other. "We take the brat upstairs. We can't leave him alone after—after this. We wait. He should return before long." He turned back to Scorpius and added, "You had better not be lying, or you'll be sorry."

_- Harry -_

He was flying—flying without need for broom or thestral, and the farther he flew away from the seaside cave, the better he was able to cool his fury. The cup and the diadem were safe, and Potter… he would pay for this…

_No, he _was_ Harry, and he was in bed, sweating. There was pressure on his chest, then a familiar voice called his name._

_He forced himself to stay asleep, he needed to see… Immeasurable time passed, then his head seemed to rip open painfully, but before he could hear himself scream, anger that was not his drew him through again…_

He was standing on solid ground now, in a wide, dimly lit room. The fools he had left to handle the boy cowered before him, and his voice cut through in a low, dangerous hiss, "_You were supposed to be watching them._"

He cursed them without waiting to hear any excuse; there were two long, drawn-out screams, one after the other, then he spoke again, "It is fortunate—_extremely_ fortunate that I took the precaution of keeping the boy tightly bound. If _he_ had escaped…"

"My Lord, I beg you… we _did_ watch them. It was the boy; he helped the others escape somehow."

"_How_?" said Voldemort.

Silence. He cursed them once more, and when the screams finally subsided, he warned, "Fail me again, and I will not forgive you."

He left them sprawled on the floor, and exited the room to where he had left the boy (the full extent of his rage was not for him to see), and with a flick of his wand, he vanished the chain that extended from the shackle around the boy's wrist, tying him to the wall. "Come, Scorpius," he said, and he waited for him to rise before he turned toward the stairs.

Scorpius followed him without resistance or protest; he felt a tinge of satisfaction, _and he was Harry again, lying down in bed, cold, and forcing his mind to stay open._

He was standing in a smaller, darker room now. A fire burned behind him, and he gazed into the boy's icy grey eyes, but they were empty of thought or emotion. Angered at his insolence, Voldemort pushed Scorpius against the wall, wand pointed at the centre of his chest, and said, "You have precisely three seconds to begin explaining to me what happened."

Scorpius opened his mouth, but seconds passed and no words came out. Voldemort cursed him—only for a short moment—then he commanded, "Kneel."

"No."

Scorpius twitched; he seemed to be expecting another dose of pain. The yew wand slashed through the air, and he was pushed forward, forced down to his hands and knees.

"How did they escape?" Voldemort asked.

"House-elves can Apparate in and out of the cellar."

"_House-elves_?"

"Yes. An elf came and took the prisoners. I'm not lying." Despite his earlier refusal, Scorpius stayed on his knees, and his body was already shaking with fear.

"Look at me," Voldemort whispered. Scorpius lifted his head, and there was no resistance in his mind this time; he was not lying. "Which elf? Who sent it?"

"I don't know. A free elf; he was wearing clothes."

"This elf did not try to take you?"

"He couldn't. I told him to take the others and go. This thing—" he looked at the shackle around his wrist "—prevents me from escaping, doesn't it?" There was slight hostility in his tone.

"It is tied to the wards," Voldemort told him. "You cannot pass outside the grounds in any way while you are wearing it."

"How do I get it off?"

"Only I can remove it. Now, about your punishment…"

"Punishment?" His eyes glistened with fear. "I haven't done anything."

"You told the elf to take the others. You are the reason my prisoners have escaped, and I have already told you I will not tolerate your disobedience any longer."

"Please, don't. I don't think I can take it," Scorpius whispered.

Voldemort raised his wand, and then there was a long, agonising scream, the sound of which steadily soothed his built-up rage. He lowered the intensity of the curse for a moment; it would not do to lose control, and he wanted the boy to beg.

"Stop, _please_," Scorpius choked. "I don't understand why you're punishing me!"

It was the sheer absurdity of the statement that compelled him to pause. "You do not understand?" Voldemort asked softly.

"No, I don't. How am I supposed to please you if I don't understand what I did wrong?"

"I was not aware that you were trying to please me."

"That's beside the point," Scorpius said. "If you want me to obey you, then you have to punish me fairly. You never told me _not_ to help your prisoners escape. I don't think I did anything wrong. There's no point in punishing me because I'll just do it again—I won't learn."

"Are you finished?" asked Voldemort, raising his wand again.

Scorpius looked stricken. He panted for a few seconds before responding, "No. You don't get it. You didn't _need_ them. What use is Ollivander to you? When he recovers, he can go back to his business. You control the Ministry. You can make laws limiting wand ownership, if you haven't already—and I'm sure you have, because he's not the only wandmaker. He has no valuable information that you can't get from me, and I think you know that already."

He paused, breathing hard, then went on, "And Luna—Luna's my friend. I couldn't stand to see her suffer, and… She wasn't even told why they kidnapped her. Please. If you can explain to me why what I did was wrong, then I'll try not to displease you again."

"You are not aware that Xenophilius Lovegood is the editor of a magazine called The Quibbler?"

Scorpius shook his head. He was still sitting on his knees, bent low, with his hands on the floor in front of him. Sweat glued his blond fringe to his forehead, and he seemed to have difficulty keeping his eyes open.

"He has been publishing treacherous articles supporting Harry Potter. How am I to keep him in line with his daughter now free?"

"Were you planning to keep Luna forever? If he's bothering you that much, arrest him, call it treason, and give him a year in Azkaban. Don't hurt his daughter. She hasn't done anything against you."

The scene blurred for a second, then it suddenly became clearer than before, and then_—Do you see, Potter? Your friend is serving _me_ now, and you cannot save him._

"Well, Scorpius, if you insist on fairness… It was _wrong_ of you to act without my permission. If you thought it would be beneficial to release them, why did you not discuss it with me first?"

Scorpius made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough. "Didn't think you would agree," he said.

"And if I did not agree, then you would have disobeyed me—and disobedience must be punished. Do you understand now, why you deserve this?"

"I… suppose," Scorpius muttered, then he seemed to regain his natural defiance. "But I still don't agree with your method of punishment. Maybe someone should try that curse on _you_."

Scorpius flinched; he seemed to know that he had gone too far, but Voldemort felt no anger. He gazed at the boy, considering for a few seconds, then ordered, "Stand up."

_Still watching, Potter? Watch this… _He opened the top drawer of the desk and picked up the lone wand amongst a variety of items, while Scorpius struggled to push himself to his feet, and Voldemort handed it to him. "Do it," he said. "Curse me."

Scorpius took the wand and twisted it in his fingers, forming a comfortable grip, but he did nothing more than stare at it. "Are you afraid?" Voldemort asked.

"I'm not scared." He did not sound it—that was the best part—_isn't it, Potter? He won't do it. He does not _want_ to_. "But you would probably just block it and punish me for daring to try."

"I won't punish you for following a direct order."

"You'd block it though. And when I said _someone_, I didn't mean _me_."

He watched Scorpius stow the wand in an inside pocket of his robes, cautiously, like he was afraid it would be taken away again, _then an irresistible wall slammed down, separating the two minds, and Harry was back in his bed at Shell Cottage, his eyes suddenly wide open_.

…

"Harry."

Harry glanced at the speaker in surprise; Draco never called him by his first name. He was beside him, his hands weighing heavily on Harry's chest, almost pinning him down. Ron stood a few feet away, and Hermione was sitting on the other bed with Luna.

"How long was I out?"

"Hours," said Ron. "We had to cast _Muffliato_ on every wall so Mr Ollivander could sleep—Fleur's been taking care of him in the other room."

"We couldn't wake you up," Hermione added, her voice trembling. "It was worse than last time."

"He knows," Harry started to explain. "He knows we're after the Horcruxes. He didn't check the cup or the diadem; he's sure they're safe, but he knows about the ring, the locket, and the snake."

"Cut to what state my son is in!" Draco interrupted. His nails were digging into Harry's skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, and he stared at Harry with a panic-struck look on his face.

"He's… fine, sort of." Harry paused. How could he possibly explain all that he had just witnessed? He glanced across the room, and met a pair of protruding silver eyes. "Luna."

"Hello, Harry," Luna said.

"Scorpius just sent your dad to Azkaban."


	18. Lord Voldemort's Proposal

**Chapter 18: Lord Voldemort's Proposal**_  
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_- Scorpius -_

Every muscle in his body ached. He could barely breathe. His eyelids flickered; he could not keep them open. He did not know what he had said. It was what he always did when he was desperate: he made logical arguments to get out of whatever trouble he had got himself into. It rarely worked, but this time it did, and he felt relieved. He could not count how many times he had been hit by the Cruciatus Curse in the last few hours.

'_You may go_,' had been his dismissal. As if he did not _have_ to go, if he did not want to. And Voldemort had given back his wand—why?

He clung to the smooth, polished wood banister as he descended the stairs, forcing one foot in front of the other. He had a terrible headache.

'_Where, exactly?_' he had asked.

'_Anywhere you wish, given you cannot leave the manor_.'

Had he passed some kind of test? Scorpius _had_ considered it—cursing him. Not the Cruciatus, however; the Imperius Curse would have been a better idea, but he did not quite know how to do it, and it really would have been stupid to try anything, anyway. He was certain he never would have got away with it.

He entered a room on the first floor, too tired to care whose it was, and collapsed on a feathery bed.

_- Harry -_

Luna's lip quivered. The dreamy look she normally wore was gone. "He must have thought it was necessary," she muttered.

Harry pushed Draco off of him and sat up. He rubbed at the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead; it still throbbed painfully, and in the back of his mind, he could still imagine Voldemort taunting him, _He belongs to me now… Watch him do whatever I say…_

"We should warn him," said Ron. "So he can go into hiding."

"You-Know-Who will expect that. He's probably sending Death Eaters out right now. He would have figured that we sent Dobby, and that Luna is here, and…" Harry hesitated a brief moment, then in the midst of a tense silence, he delivered the blow, "He knew I was watching."

Chaos reigned for a few minutes. It was only when Ron left to get Bill to send a message to Mr Lovegood that Hermione finally managed to cut in, "Harry, if You-Know-Who wanted you to see this, how can you be sure that everything was real?"

Silence again. Remembering what had happened the last time Voldemort had purposely sent him a vision, Harry considered every single detail, looking for a loose thread, but nothing stood out. "It had to be," he said. "If he was faking it, he could have done a lot better."

"Hold on," said Draco, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "So the Dark Lord is turning Scorpius? That's why he hasn't killed him? That's fantastic."

"Yeah. The last thing _you_ need is another Death Eater in the family." Ron had returned, and was now standing in the doorway, just inside the _Muffliato_ charm.

"Shut up, Weasley, you don't know what you're talking about," Draco retorted.

Ron ignored him, and reminded Harry, "I told you he was a two-faced git."

The room had gone silent for a third time, so Harry filled it by continuing to recount what he had witnessed. Hermione was still sceptical, but there was no point in arguing, so instead she asked, "So, what do we do now?"

"We go after the diadem," Harry said, then he noticed Draco staring fixedly at the opposite wall.

_- Scorpius -_

"_He _will_ recover, my Lord._"

Everything was blurred. He could barely breathe. He felt disoriented, as though the room itself was moving fast, round and round. There was a hand on his forehead.

"_How can you be certain? If there is any permanent damage…_"

"_His symptoms are mild. If it was anything to be concerned about, he would have collapsed much sooner._"

He opened his eyes, and met empty dark ones, framed by curtains of greasy black hair. Snape lowered his hand, subtly pushing his eyelids back down with two fingers, closing them, implying that it was not safe for Scorpius to be awake.

"You will make him the necessary potions," Voldemort said. "Leave him when you are finished. I shall accompany you back to Hogwarts. I have… matters I must attend to."

Scorpius peeked through one half-open eye, and he saw Snape give a bow just before Voldemort turned and swept from the room; he opened his eyes fully then, and Snape started to cast his usual privacy enchantments.

It was one of the smaller guest bedrooms, Scorpius noticed. He was still fully dressed and lying on top of the blankets on the double bed. Snape started to set up a potion kit on a writing desk in front of the window. It was snowing outside, and the sky was dark; Scorpius had slept all day again. He was starting to miss the sun.

"How do you feel?" said Snape.

Scorpius sat up, and instantly regretted it as a spell of dizziness hit him. He fell back against the pillows, and unable to tolerate the heat anymore, he started to remove his clothes, stowing his wand underneath a pillow. It did not help much.

"Very hot," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Sore all over. My head feels like it's spinning."

His pyjamas were laid out on the edge of the bed, but Scorpius did not put them on. He lied flat on his stomach, stripped down to his boxers.

"Close your eyes," Snape said, glancing over at him. "This won't take long."

He did so, and only looked again twenty minutes later when Snape poured the potion into a crystal goblet and handed it to him, instructing, "Drink it slowly." It was like liquid ice. His lips turned numb as the potion touched them, and he nearly choked when the first sip reached his throat.

"Still sore," Scorpius whispered as he handed back the empty goblet. The fever was gone, but now he was cold, so he put on the pyjamas. Snape poured another potion into the goblet from a glass bottle. This one was warm and flavoured like cherry, and it made his body tingle as it erased the pain in his limbs. He sighed with relief and relaxed on the bed.

"How did I even get like this?" he asked after a moment.

"Over-exposure to the Cruciatus Curse," Snape replied. "You're in a much better state than Selwyn." There was a slight sneer in his voice.

"I thought they were allowed to hurt me."

"They are allowed to use non-lethal force against prisoners to keep them in line. Technicalities aside, the Dark Lord no longer considers you a prisoner."

Snape started to prepare ingredients for another potion. Scorpius closed his eyes, but he had little desire to sleep. The smell of steam rising from the small cauldron carried over a while later, and he sat up cross-legged and said, "What are you making? I feel fine now, for the most part."

"You need to rest. The fever will return," said Snape.

Scorpius picked up his wand and started tracing swirls of silver sparks in the air, feeling content that he was permitted to do magic again. "I'm hungry," he realised.

Immediately as he said the word, a tray of food appeared in front of him, complete with two Chocolate Frogs and a Sugar Quill. He opened a Chocolate Frog, and flinched slightly as it jumped out; he caught it between his fingers, and felt surprised at his quick reflex. The card was Merlin.

He took his time eating, and then stuffed the two cards under the pillow along with his wand, just before the tray vanished.

"He doesn't mix any potions in my food, does he?" Scorpius asked suddenly.

"A mild sedative, I think," Snape said. "There is nothing you can do about it. If you refuse to eat, he will likely have you force fed."

"I can't get out of here."

Snape filled the crystal goblet for a third time, and then replied, "I know."

"He's going to find out about you. If he even gets slightly suspicious, all he has to do is ask me, and no matter what I say, he'll know."

"Don't worry. I am aware of that. Lie down and drink this."

He recognised the light, almost translucent purple colour as he was handed the goblet, and he looked up at Snape in alarm. "Dreamless Sleep? But—I don't want—"

"Do not make me force you. I am still undercover, and therefore required to follow the Dark Lord's orders."

He hesitated; Snape pushed the goblet to his lips and tipped it; warm liquid trickled down his throat, and the last thing Scorpius was aware of was a thick blanket covering him.

It was midday when he awoke again. His head was burning. He slipped his hand under the pillow to check that his wand was still there; it was. A man with a pockmarked face and grey hair sat in the desk chair, facing Scorpius, a book in his hand, looking bored. There were two vials of potions on the bedside table.

Seeing that Scorpius was awake, the man marked his page, stood, and set the book down. Scorpius felt too ill and afraid to ask questions or give any resistance as the man checked his temperature, and then proceeded to hand him another goblet-full of the cooling potion, simply ordering him to drink.

It was only when the man started to refill the goblet with Dreamless Sleep potion that Scorpius remembered who he was, and could not help saying, "You're Augustus Rookwood, aren't you? You worked in the Department of Mysteries?"

"Years ago," Rookwood answered in a quiet, raspy voice. "What interest do you have in the Department of Mysteries?"

"I think I want to be an Unspeakable. But I don't understand all the secrecy involved. Can you tell me what goes on in there?"

"Unspeakables are essentially researchers. The full results of their work are seldom published because of the rarity of conclusive evidence, or in some cases, the higher ups in the Ministry decide that certain things are too dangerous for the general public to know about. Things like the origins of magic…" He looked at Scorpius with striking olive green eyes as he went on, "Time, and space… Death…"

_So he knows_, Scorpius thought, and decided it was safe to ask, "Do you think there are alternate universes? Worlds that are similar but have slightly different histories?"

"You cannot change history. That much has been proven over and over. Even if there are alternate universes, for every world that you fix, there's one that you don't." Rookwood paused, and regarded Scorpius with a calculating stare, probably considering how much information to divulge, then he continued, "To answer your question, it is probable. There are a number of accounts of wizards throughout history who may have come from altered time periods. Merlin, for instance, was believed to have lived generations ahead of his time—some even say that if he were alive today, with no benefit of foreknowledge, he would be no greater than the average wizard."

"But there's no proof that he wasn't just an excellent Seer," said Scorpius. "He would have to be really power-hungry to intentionally create a world where he is revered almost like a god."

"Knowledge for its own sake, or knowledge for the sake of becoming powerful—that's what separated Ravenclaw and Slytherin."

"I could have been in Ravenclaw. But I chose Slytherin."

The crystal goblet was still on the bedside table, and Rookwood had sat down again; it did not seem like he was going to force Scorpius to take the potion. He suddenly remembered that the man was a Death Eater, a former spy, and a likely-psychopathic murderer, and he wondered, "Why are you telling me all this?"

Rookwood smiled, but not at all pleasantly. "I have not told you anything you could not figure out yourself," he said. "You're a clever boy. What do you think?"

The answer was obvious. "You're going to tell Lord Voldemort everything I said."

Rookwood flinched—Scorpius smirked—but he quickly recovered and said, "You're very brave to use his name. Take your potion."

"So you can run off and tell him all about my career ambitions? I don't want to sleep; I've barely seen the sun in days." Scorpius sat up and turned to face him, pushing the blankets aside. The window was right next to the bed, and hot rays of sunlight penetrated through the glass, making Scorpius feel like his fever was already coming back again, but there was still more he needed to know, and it was worth the trade-off. "How about we talk a bit longer, and then you'll have better things to report?"

Rookwood gave him that unpleasant smile again. "Of course, if that is what you want."

"I want to go home," Scorpius said. "What do you know about time travel? Is there a way to go forward?"

"It depends. Going with the Alternate Universes Theory, a one-way portal seems unlikely," answered Rookwood.

"I used an unauthorised Time-Turner."

"Then theoretically, you could force your Time-Turner to reverse its last action, if you only used it once. However, the spell is immensely complicated, and there is no record of anyone successfully attempting it."

"The Dark Lord has my Time-Turner." Rookwood was already aware of that fact, Scorpius knew; he had that look on his scarred face again.

"Then I suppose you're stuck," he said. "And the Dark Lord will not be pleased if your illness drags on. If you're finished talking, you need to rest."

Only because he was starting to get a headache, Scorpius crawled back under the blankets and finally swallowed the purple potion. When he opened his eyes again, he was not surprised to see Voldemort standing over him.

"Get dressed, Scorpius," he whispered absently. "We have much to discuss."

Scorpius found freshly laundered robes laid out at the foot of the bed, and he did what he was told, making sure to take his wand.

"Give me your hand," Voldemort said, then when Scorpius hesitated, he specified, "The right one." Again, Scorpius did so, and Voldemort tapped the metal bracelet with his wand; it expanded so that it was wide enough to easily slip off his hand, and Voldemort tossed it aside. "I trust you are not foolish enough to attempt an escape while you are with me."

There was no question, but the look Voldemort gave him implied that he was expecting a response. Scorpius replied, "No, I am not."

He did not even consider it. He had known the moment that Dobby failed to Disapparate that Voldemort was not taking any chances with him; he would never escape. The removal of the bracelet was not an invitation to try; it was a sign of trust.

"Your manners need improvement," Voldemort commented.

"I apologise, sir."

"Scorpius, you know I command more respect than that."

He was still waiting expectantly. Scorpius said with half-hearted defiance, "Who are you going to threaten? Luna isn't here anymore, and I know you won't kill me."

"I do not _want_ to kill you. That does not mean I won't. Come."

Voldemort led him out of the bedroom and through the empty hallways, down to the main floor. The silence in the house unnerved Scorpius; he checked the time, and saw that it was past four o'clock in the morning, already the second of January. He briefly wondered if Voldemort ever slept.

They entered the parlour. It was cold from disuse, but Voldemort lit a fire immediately, and the room quickly heated. He ordered Scorpius to sit at a square table near the far wall, and then took the seat opposite him.

Scorpius kept his hands on his lap, and looked down at the polished wood surface. It was an odd change, sitting across from Voldemort with no wands drawn. Like they were equal. An illusion, of course—Scorpius knew where the power lay between them.

Quietly, Voldemort began, "I wonder… Why do you think your brave, heroic, Gryffindor friends waited so long to try to rescue you? I kept you in that cellar for three days. They could have sent an elf at any point during that time to get you. Why wait? What do you think, Scorpius?"

"I don't know," Scorpius answered truthfully. "Could have been any reason."

"You don't think perhaps they expected you to be killed quickly?" Voldemort suggested. "Perhaps they were _hoping_ for it. That would have been better for them, wouldn't it?"

Scorpius blinked. "Maybe. What are you trying to say? They don't care about me? I don't believe it."

"They ignore you, don't they? They expect you to provide them with all the answers, and yet they refuse to trust you with any more than what you already know. The blood-traitors hate you. You know it. Do not lie to me, Scorpius."

"Harry doesn't. And they're still protecting Draco." _But they have to, now that he knows about the Horcruxes…_

"You want to go home."

Again, though there was no question, Voldemort was clearly waiting for Scorpius to say something. "Yes," he acknowledged.

"I do not _need_ you, Scorpius. I can release you. You can return to your friends with no fear of my Death Eaters pursuing you. Would you like that?"

Scorpius raised his eyebrows at the ridiculous offer—he knew Voldemort would never release him, at least not without a Dark Mark on his arm. "What's the catch?" he asked.

"You will never return home. And if you fight against me, my servants will be forced to kill you." Voldemort spoke in a calm, even tone, devoid of any emotion, like he was simply stating the facts.

"You wouldn't let me go" Scorpius said with undoubting certainty. "I know you wouldn't."

"Why not? If you do not wish to join me, then I have no reason to keep you here. You are not a threat to me. I have no reason to kill you."

_He's lying_, Scorpius thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he humoured, "Well, I definitely don't want to join you. So I can go then? Right now?"

"Is that what you want?" asked Voldemort.

"Can I have my things back?"

"Everything except the Time-Turner."

"Assuming you're not bluffing…" A tiny shred of doubt pierced his certainty. It did not _sound_ like a bluff, but Scorpius knew who he was talking to, and Voldemort was not known for keeping promises, or being merciful. Scorpius narrowed his eyes, though he still could not look at Voldemort's face, and asked, "What's the alternative? What are you offering me if I choose to stay?"

"You are no coward, Scorpius. Look at me," said Voldemort; Scorpius forced himself to make eye contact. "I can send you home."

Instantly, though he knew that Voldemort could see them, a flurry of questions and thoughts raced through his mind: _Why would he? What does he want in return? He has to be lying. Was Rookwood even telling the truth? For every world that you fix, there's one that you don't…_ But he had left a world that did not _need_ fixing, and ended up damaging another…

"I'm not ready to go home yet," Scorpius said. "What do you want in return?"

There was a glimmer of triumph in Voldemort's eyes, and it tinted his tone very slightly when he spoke, "I will keep the offer open… for as long as you show me proper respect, and obey every command I give you."

"Every command?" Scorpius repeated. "What if I fail? I don't want to kill and torture people. I probably couldn't if I tried." His voice shook almost imperceptibly.

"I have plenty of servants capable of accomplishing those tasks." Voldemort's gaze seemed to burn into him. "What is lacking in my followers is _competence_. I am surrounded by fools."

Scorpius shook his head. "I don't like it. There's too many loopholes. I could forget to bow just once and the deal could be off, and that's assuming you intend to keep your word to begin with."

"Scorpius, I could kill you right now."

"So do it!" he dared.

Voldemort raised his wand and shot a curse across the table so quickly that Scorpius had no time to react before it hit him in the chest. He fell backward, knocking the chair to the floor, and writhed on the velvet rug, screaming in pain.

It stopped, and he panted a few seconds before Voldemort ordered sharply, "Get up."

He pushed himself up, trembling, replaced the chair, and sat down, looking cowed.

"That was a warning," Voldemort said.

"You're not going to kill me," Scorpius muttered, but there was no confidence in his tone.

"It seems we have a misunderstanding about your position. Why do you think I won't kill you?"

There was silence. The fire crackled ominously. Voldemort's amused tone told Scorpius that he already knew his answer, and knew that it was worthless, but Scorpius no longer had the courage to speak or make eye contact.

"I already have all of the information you can give me," Voldemort answered for him. "I can read your mind, Scorpius. Your defences are passable at best. I do not need to torture you. As much as I enjoy hearing you scream and beg for mercy, your insolence infuriates me."

Silence fell again for a long moment before Scorpius said, "Prove it. What do you know that I didn't tell you?"

"I know about the secret you are keeping from Harry Potter," Voldemort whispered. "It tears you apart. You have been wondering for some time whether it would be best to tell him."

He rose, and walked slowly around the table until he stood directly beside Scorpius, looking down upon his pale, terrified face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Scorpius muttered, but he knew exactly what secret Voldemort was referring to.

"You don't?" said Voldemort, and then he reached a large white hand under Scorpius' chin and tilted his head back, forcing him to make eye contact, and the attack came so abruptly and so forcefully that every shield he tried to put up was instantly shattered.

The gleaming red eyes dissolved; the darkened parlour was gone, and he was back at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. It was summer. He sat in a high-ceilinged bedroom with Harry Potter, talking about things that did not matter—Quidditch and girls—and then Harry ruffled his hair, revealing the lightning bolt scar, and Scorpius remembered what it meant.

He darted his gaze to the hardwood floor, and Harry's next words were lost because all Scorpius could think about was the unintentional Horcrux, and that Dumbledore might have been wrong to keep it from him.

The scene vanished in a swirl of thoughts and colours, and he was pulled back into the present, and Voldemort was not at all surprised at what he had seen. He was still squeezing his chin painfully.

"So?" Voldemort said. "Have I shown you sufficient proof?"

Scorpius parted his lips and drew in a breath, too petrified to speak.

"Y—yes, sir," he whispered after a moment.

"Then do we have an agreement?"

"You're not really giving me a choice. I still don't believe you'd let me go."

Voldemort relinquished his grip and stepped around the chair, then he said in his softest, most dangerous voice, "I have a task for you."

_I'm going to die_, Scorpius thought. _He's going to kill everyone. And there's nothing I can do about it_. His hands were starting to feel clammy.

"I want you to bring Draco to me."

"I can't. You'll kill him."

"Have I not already proven myself to be more merciful than you expected? I could have extracted all of the information you have and then disposed of you within hours. And Draco… Why would I bother to order my Death Eaters to bring him to me alive and unharmed if I was going to kill him? What do you think?"

He was so close that Scorpius could feel Voldemort's breath on the side of his face. He did not dare move even an inch.

"I don't know," he answered. "But you said you might."

"I will give you three days. Bring him to me before dawn on the fifth, and your loyalty will be proven. I will place you in the highest rank, alongside my most faithful and trusted followers. _If you fail_, then I will give the order for Draco to be killed on sight. Is that clear?"

"Yes… my Lord."

Scorpius gasped as Voldemort again forced his head back and gazed into his eyes, and then whispered softly, "Try… 'Master.'"

_No_, Scorpius could not stop himself from thinking. _Absolutely not. I won't degrade myself to the status of a common slave_. He trembled. Over a minute passed, but Voldemort did not release him, and neither of them spoke. He was waiting, Scorpius knew.

He had no choice. "Perfectly clear, Master."

"Good boy." Voldemort finally let go of him and stepped closer to the marble mantle. "You may go whenever you wish. Your things are in the room where you slept."

…

The bed was made when he returned. Everything—except for his Time-Turner, and the diadem, of course, but that had never actually belonged to him—was laid out atop the navy blue bedspread. Even the silver and blue robes he had been wearing the day that he was captured were meticulously repaired and cleaned. Scorpius changed into them, knowing it would look suspicious to return to the Order of the Phoenix wearing Death Eater robes.

He stuffed the pyjamas and black robes inside his mokeskin pouch along with everything else; he knew that Voldemort expected him to keep them.

He sat down on the bed, and an insane smile crossed his face, not quite reaching his eyes. He was alive, and free. The very thought was ridiculous. How in Merlin's name had he survived almost an entire week in Voldemort's captivity? He should have been killed. The realisation struck him like a knife to the chest. He was no longer important enough to be kept alive. If he failed, he was as disposable as any Death Eater.


	19. Shell Cottage

**Chapter 19: Shell Cottage**_  
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_- Draco -_

There was a new, feral glint in his eyes that Draco had never seen before, and that was what broke the façade. Bill Weasley had checked for every possible sign of the Imperius Curse and found nothing; Scorpius had cooperated fully, answering all six of Potter's security questions with practised ease, and gladly revealing his pale, Dark-Mark-free forearm, but still, something about his eyes was off, and he kept looking at Draco with a gaze that could only mean, '_We need to talk. Alone._'

When Bill finally concluded that Scorpius was not a disguised Death Eater or being controlled by them, Fleur hastened to sit him down at the kitchen table and fill up a plate with food, while the Gryffindor trio slipped back up the stairs.

Loony Lovegood sat down beside Scorpius and started asking for a detailed account of his 'expert escape,' which he obligingly provided. It was all lies, Draco knew, because Scorpius was describing methods of distracting the Dark Lord that never would have worked, and secret passages that did not exist.

Draco sat on the other side of the small wooden table, waiting for him to give up nibbling on food that he was clearly not hungry for, so he could find out exactly what was going on.

"Draco." Hermione had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, Potter and Weasley shuffling past from behind her. Draco looked up. "Snape has a message for you. Phineas won't give it to anyone else—says it's private."

Scorpius shot him a questioning glance, but Draco stood and without a word, he climbed the stairs to the first floor bedroom, where Phineas Nigellus was pacing back and forth in the portrait that hung on the wall. "About time," he admonished when Draco stepped inside.

"What's the message?"

"Professor Snape says that Scorpius Malfoy has sustained some damage from being hit repeatedly with the Cruciatus Curse. He may be emotionally unstable, and possibly violent."

Draco felt the colour drain out of his face. "But… he'll get better… won't he?"

Phineas turned inside his frame and vanished. Draco stood stiffly, biting his lip and staring at the empty portrait for over a minute until Phineas returned and announced in a disturbingly clinical tone, "The damage is most likely permanent."

_Most likely permanent_—the words echoed in his head. He felt physically ill. Draco stepped out onto the landing, not wanting to hear any more.

"Hold on one second!" Phineas shouted after him.

"What?"

"Professor Snape says you must keep this information private."

"He doesn't want me to tell anyone?" Draco clarified. "Even Scorpius?"

"That _is_ the definition of the word 'private.'"

Phineas disappeared again, and Draco leaned against the wall for a moment, his thoughts racing. _Emotionally unstable… possibly violent… keep this private… permanent, permanent, permanent…_ He felt conflicted. What did Snape expect him to do? He could barely handle Scorpius when he was normal.

He descended the stairs, and found Scorpius at the bottom. They had not yet spoken one word to each other since he had arrived.

"Hey," Scorpius said with a playful smile. The insane glint in his eyes was still there, and Draco realised that it was not the type of thing that came and went; it was a new _permanent_ feature of his face.

Not knowing what else to do, Draco replied, "Thought I'd never see you again," and he hugged him, but Scorpius did not hug back—he _clung_ to him, squeezing the back of his robes, like he was afraid to let go.

Then Draco heard him whisper in his ear, "I need to lie down. Can we go upstairs?"

"Yeah," said Draco, but he was then interrupted by Hermione, standing in the doorway of the living room.

"Draco," she said for the second time that morning. Her eyebrows were arched, creating her most persuasive expression. She pulled him into the living room and pushed him against the wall; there was no escape. Then she asked in a whisper, "What did Snape tell you?"

He shook his head. "Can't say. I'm supposed to keep it private."

"Snape doesn't think he could have escaped," Hermione continued just barely loud enough for Draco to hear. "And if what Harry saw really happened… we need to keep a close eye on him."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it," Draco assured her, though he had no idea _how_ he would take care of it.

He brought Scorpius up to the bedroom, and then he saw him untie the pouch around his belt and pull out a small glass vial. Scorpius took a drink and rubbed his forehead, then fell back onto the nearest twin-size bed.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked hesitantly.

"Slight fever," Scorpius muttered. "Nothing to worry about."

"Where did you get the potion?" said Draco, examining the half-empty vial that Scorpius had dropped on the bed.

Scorpius did not answer. Draco closed the curtains over the window, dimming the intensity of the mid-morning sun, and examined the intricate floral patterns that were painted along the walls. There was a small wardrobe between the two beds, on top of which sat a bird cage, but Potter's owl was still out hunting.

"Can we talk?" Scorpius asked after a long silence, looking at Draco with an innocent expression.

"Of course."

"Can you do the privacy enchantments? I don't want to be overheard."

He did them while Scorpius watched, then Draco sat down on the bed, and Scorpius suddenly aimed an extra _Muffliato_ at Phineas Nigellus' empty canvas. "So. You and Hermione are together now?" he then said.

"Yes," Draco answered with a smirk. "Though she made me promise to stop baiting Weasley over it."

They seemed to be studying each other.

"What else have I missed?" asked Scorpius. "What have you been up to?"

"Besides worrying about you? Not much. Potter destroyed the locket. Hermione's been researching. Loony actually turned out to be useful—well, _possibly_—have you heard of the Deathly Hallows?"

"Yes, I have. And don't call her Loony, she's my friend."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Do they actually exist? Ollivander seems convinced that the wand is real, at least."

"They do, but they're not important. I'll explain to everyone later."

Scorpius closed his eyes. He seemed to have run out of things to ask about. Draco swallowed, but before he could say anything, Scorpius suddenly cut in, "Harry didn't have any visions, did he? While I was gone?"

Draco hesitated. Snape's message repeated itself in his head, _Emotionally unstable… possibly violent…_ "Just once, when the Dark Lord found out that we were targeting his Horcruxes. I'm sorry—I had to tell the others about the diadem. Weasley wants to kill you."

Scorpius smiled. "Of course he does. Don't worry about it. I would have had to tell them anyway. Harry didn't see anything else though?"

"Like you?"

"Yeah."

Draco smoothed his hair as an excuse to avoid eye contact and said, "No. He saw him punishing a couple of Death Eaters for letting Luna and Ollivander escape, but then it ended."

Silence fell; Scorpius had stopped asking questions.

"Scorpius," Draco started cautiously, "how did you escape from the Dark Lord? The truth."

"The truth?" For a moment, Draco thought he might try to evade the question, but then Scorpius replied, "I didn't. He had me backed into a corner. I couldn't get out. He offered me a deal and I accepted. No choice."

"What sort of deal?"

Something changed in his expression suddenly—it looked almost like aggression. "I'll tell you, but first I want to know something," Scorpius said. "Why didn't anyone send Dobby right away? They only checked on the prisoners twice a day when I was in the cellar, and I only saw Voldemort there once the whole time. He didn't take further precautions until after he let me out. It would have worked."

The words, 'possibly violent' replayed themselves in Draco's mind. "I'm sorry. I don't know," he said. "All we ever got from Snape until he actually saw you was, 'I'll find out what I can,' and he didn't find out anything really useful. I don't think he even knew for sure where you were being kept."

"He could have found out," Scorpius muttered.

"What did the Dark Lord do to you?"

Scorpius regarded him with a hard glare that almost made Draco regret asking. The change in his demeanour was so remarkable that Draco was beginning to feel somewhat afraid of him.

"I really don't want to talk about it," Scorpius said in a tone reminiscent of his usual calmness, though it was contradicted by the glint in his eyes.

Draco was at a loss. But after a short silence, Scorpius started to mutter, "He was… I don't know how to say it… He certainly wasn't _kind_, but… he took care of me."

"He didn't torture you?" asked Draco.

Scorpius sat up; he seemed to be thinking. "He did. But only when he thought I deserved it. He let me get away with a lot—you wouldn't believe some of the things I said to him." He smirked; Draco felt disturbed by it. "He's kept every promise he made to me so far… I don't think he even lied to me at all…"

"Why did he let you go?"

Scorpius started fidgeting. Seconds passed, then he said, "He wants you. He told me to bring you back to him. I don't understand it. Why is he so determined to get you back? You're useless to him."

"Because I escaped him," Draco explained. "Becoming a Death Eater is a lifelong commitment. Once you take the Mark, you're in until death—that's why traitors have to be killed. There's supposed to be no other way out. He's insulted. He needs me back to prove that no one can escape him—to discourage anyone else from trying."

"Glorified slavery. I see," Scorpius said quietly. "You can't hide forever, Draco. If I don't bring you back, he's going to order his minions to kill you on sight. If they find you again, you won't even have a chance to run."

"You don't think he's going to kill me either way? I can't go back."

They locked gazes for a while, as though they were sizing each other up.

"I don't blame you," Scorpius said, "but… we're never going to break into Gringotts, and I haven't got the slightest idea what he did with the diadem. It's not _just_ you he wants. If I bring you back, he says he'll make me a Death Eater in the highest rank. I'll spy for us—"

"No."

"Don't you trust me? Like you said, he needs you back, but he doesn't need to kill you. You're not a threat. I told him that you never would have betrayed him if it weren't for me."

"It doesn't matter. He'll find out I've been helping Potter."

"You haven't though—not really. _I'm_ the one who killed Nagini and told Harry where to find the cup. _I_ told Snape when we were going to Godric's Hollow so he could deliver the sword without planting himself in any of our heads—and if that's not enough, I convinced you to help with planning _and_ convinced Harry to let you in on the Horcrux secret. If there's only one of us he should kill, it's me."

"_You_ don't have his Mark branded into your skin! That's the whole point!"

They were silent for a moment, but then Scorpius refuted in a voice that was just barely louder than a whisper, "What do you think he intends to do to me once I return?"

Draco internally refused to answer. He could not even consider the idea of Scorpius bearing the Dark Mark.

"Please, Draco. He won't kill you, because he knows he would lose my obedience if he did. I want to go home."

Draco had thought many times about going back and begging the Dark Lord for forgiveness, either because he felt guilty for being safe while his parents suffered, or because he thought that Potter would never succeed, but he had never imagined that he might act on those thoughts.

"No," he said. "I can't do it. You're asking too much."

"I'm asking too much?" There was a softness in his voice now that seriously scared Draco; he would have preferred it if Scorpius had shouted. "Almost everything I've done since I've been here has been to keep you safe and happy, despite the fact that I'm not sure if you deserve any of it."

"I never _asked_ you to do anything!"

"You didn't have to ask." The softness had vanished, and Scorpius had dropped his tone to a dead calm. "It was obvious that you wished someone would be there for you, because you're a bloody coward. You're too used to hiding behind your father even to stand up for yourself."

The words angered him. He shuddered from the effort it took to keep from escalating the argument, then after some long seconds, he said in the same empty tone, "You're no better."

Scorpius countered immediately, "I didn't have a father to hide behind. I had to—"

"No. Don't even tell me that you're independent and never had anyone you could really trust—that doesn't make you better. You're going to let him brand you with a scar that will _never_ fade because you feel guilty for messing up a world you don't even belong in? I don't believe that for a second."

There was a long silence, filled only with heavy breathing. Scorpius had a stunned look on his face. Then, thinking more clearly than ever, Draco suddenly asked, "What do you want from me?"

The response was staggering. Scorpius stared at the carpeted floor, with—Draco nearly gasped at the sight—_tears_ in his eyes. "I don't know," he whispered. "I just… don't know anything anymore. I'm so… confused."

"Don't worry," Draco said after a moment, trying to sound reassuring. "You'll get better. The Dark Lord can't touch you here; Bill is the Secret-Keeper, and he doesn't even go to work anymore. Just relax and take it easy for a week or two."

Scorpius wiped his eyes with his sleeve and looked at him. "But he gave me a deadline—if I'm not back in three days…"

"Then we'll see how you feel in three days."

"You won't tell the others any of this?"

Scorpius stared at him with such an intensity that Draco could feel him searching for any sign of dishonesty, but he dismissed it and answered, "Of course not."

_- Scorpius -_

Harry no longer trusted him. That was the first thing on his mind once Scorpius had convinced Draco to leave him alone. Even Draco did not seem to trust him anymore. Scorpius was annoyed—he was being treated like he was under a type of Imperius Curse that no form of magic could break.

He was starting to suspect that Voldemort might have been right—that maybe they _did_ hate him, and now that he had messed up, they had no use for him. He drank the last of his fever medicine and lied down on the bed, turning away from the sunlight that seeped through the red curtains.

Someone entered a few minutes later and sat down beside him, then said, "I thought you might be lonely." It was Luna.

"I'm okay," Scorpius muttered. "Is it safe to go downstairs, or are they still saying things behind my back?"

"I think it's safe."

He wondered whether he should feel grateful or disturbed by the fact that she did not deny his accusation.

It was _not_ safe. He could hear Bill's voice from the sitting room when he crossed the kitchen, saying, "We can probably move Ollivander to Muriel's after dinner, and put Hermione and Luna in that room."

Then Ron said, "Harry and Scorpius can have the other one. I don't mind sleeping in the living room."

Scorpius stepped inside the open doorway, waiting, but Draco simply sat on a small sofa, Hermione's hand in his, looking blank; he made no objection to the new arrangement.

"You can't split us up," Scorpius said. Harry turned around suddenly, and his expression hardened when they made eye contact, but Scorpius could not quite place what it was. He turned to Bill and insisted, "I want to share with Draco."

He knew what the problem was: the others did not trust them together. He was daring them to admit it.

"I'll leave you to work it out between yourselves, then," said Bill.

Harry was studying the cream-coloured carpet when the sitting room door closed and the six of them were left alone. Scorpius leaned back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest.

"It might be a bit cramped, but we could put three of you in that room, if you just don't want to be split up," Hermione suggested.

Draco was staring down at their entwined fingers. _Cowards_, Scorpius thought. "That doesn't make sense. No one will be cramped if you just put us together. What's the problem?"

It seemed stupid to argue about sleeping arrangements, but Scorpius knew that was far from the real issue. _Just say it_, he thought. _I already know_.

"We don't trust you, Malfoy." It was Harry who spoke, and there was no mistaking his expression this time: it was unfiltered _hatred_. "You have a habit of ordering people around, and _he_ has a habit of following your orders. We aren't leaving you alone together."

Scorpius glanced sideways at Draco, but he was still silently refusing to get involved. He glared at Harry as he replied, "And just what exactly do you think I'm going to order him to do?"

Ron looked bewildered by the exchange; Hermione seemed to be debating whether or not to interfere.

"I don't know," Harry said in a sickeningly soft, sarcastic tone, "maybe something to do with whatever Voldemort sent you here for. I'm surprised Luna is even talking to you after what you did to her father."

"What do you mean? I've never even met her father." There was a lump in his throat, and his voice shook when he spoke, though he could not help but feel impressed by the idea that Voldemort might have actually taken his advice.

"He was executed two days ago—after _you_ told Voldemort to arrest him for treason."

"How do you know what I told Voldemort?" He barely heard himself ask the question; he was in shock at the intensity of the hate in Harry's eyes—it seemed to increase the longer they looked at each other.

"What I said under torture means nothing," Scorpius said coldly. "You're deluded if you think he did that because of what I told him. And he didn't _send_ me here for anything. I don't take orders from anyone, especially not some pathetic moron who calls himself a Dark Lord."

"You're lying. I _saw_ you kneeling before him, following his orders."

There was a short, suspenseful silence, then Harry made a sudden movement; Scorpius mirrored him, and in a second they had both drawn their wands, but just as he realised that Harry's curse would hit him first, Hermione had stood up and bellowed, "_PROTEGO_!"

Harry and Scorpius were both pushed backward, separated by an invisible shield. The tension in the room was palpable.

"Both of you, stop it," Hermione said, but they were still glaring at each other through the barrier.

Scorpius felt something tug at his arm, and a softer voice said, "Come on." He did not resist as Luna pulled him back through the kitchen and up the stairs. She did not say another word to him.

Her father was dead, possibly because of him. Draco had lied. Harry suddenly hated him. How was he supposed to relax and take it easy? He felt like he had walked out of a living nightmare and entered something many times worse, because here it was not some psychopathic murderer hurting him—it was his _friends_.

They sat on the bed in silence for what felt like hours. Luna let him hold her hand, though he felt guilty for wanting to. Finally, Scorpius said, "I'm sorry about your father. I didn't realise what I was saying. I had no idea he might take me seriously."

"I know it's not your fault," Luna said matter-of-factly.

They had left the bedroom door open, but Scorpius did not notice until Draco quietly entered and asked him, "Are you okay?"

Scorpius turned his head to glare at him in response, but Draco seemed to shrug it off. "Potter's gone insane," he said. "Literally the second you stepped out of the room, he just rubbed his head and claimed he had no idea what made him angry—like nothing even happened—except that he's perfectly convinced you can't be trusted."

"Really?" said Scorpius, doubtful. "Is that what they told you to tell me?"

"That's the explanation he gave Hermione."

"It's a lie. He called me by my surname—that had to be deliberate. People with temporary insanity don't suddenly forget what they normally call someone."

"Well, you won, anyway," Draco said. "We get this room. No Potter."

"Why did you lie to me? You said Harry never saw me in his vision."

He tried to remember that night, but everything was a blur. Had Harry watched him being tortured—and heard Voldemort call it punishment?

Draco shifted his feet and leaned sideways against the door frame. "I didn't think you would want to know. I didn't expect Potter to tell you."

"I'll leave you two alone," Luna said in her usual dreamy voice, but Scorpius did not let go of her hand.

"No," he said, reacting instinctively. He regretted it the instant he saw the look on her face. He closed his eyes and lied down across the bed, willing everything away. Something was wrong with him. He could not make sense of what he was feeling, and it was clear that no one else had any idea how to help him, if they were even trying to. He had never felt so alone in his life.

Draco sat down beside him, and then Scorpius felt a hand close around his wrist. It pulled, and he found himself letting go of Luna, then he heard her leave the room.

"Listen," Draco said quietly. "I'm sorry I lied to you. That was stupid, I know. I love you—"

Scorpius sat up instantly, his eyes wide. "Say that again," he breathed.

Draco smiled and his cheeks turned slightly pink. "I love you," he repeated. The words rolled off his tongue awkwardly. "But…" He took a deep breath. "You still don't trust me."

There was hurt in his eyes, Scorpius saw, and it added a weight of guilt to his confusion.

"You said once before that all I had to do to gain your trust was walk away from the Death Eaters, and I did. I've done everything you told me to, no matter how difficult. What more do you want?"

"Draco, I wouldn't have told you why the Dark Lord let me go if I didn't trust you."

"Don't lie," Draco said. "You told me because you expected me to blindly follow you back to him. You expect me to trust you, but you don't return it."

Somehow Scorpius felt exhausted, despite having done little more than sleep in the last three days. Everything was true—he had never fully trusted Draco—at least, not beyond trusting him to follow his lead. "All right," he said hesitantly. "Maybe… I can try…"

"No. That's not good enough. What is it going to take for you to understand that we're on the same side—_no matter what_?"

Scorpius sighed. "All right. I'll trust you."

_- Draco -_

Potter glared at Scorpius across the dining room table the moment he sat down for breakfast the following day. Scorpius seemed to ignore it. They managed the entire meal without speaking one word to each other, but the hate in Potter's eyes only grew stronger by the time the six of them had filed into the bedroom that Draco shared with Scorpius.

Hermione had not even finished the privacy enchantments when Potter spat, "He shouldn't be here. We can't trust him."

Scorpius bit his lip and glared back.

"We need him," Hermione said, then added firmly, "And we're all in this together."

"We _don't_ need him—he's a traitor. How do we know he didn't tell Voldemort what we've been up to? How do we know he didn't hand over the diadem willingly?"

"Snape said—"

"Snape only repeated what _he_ said."

Hermione quieted, suddenly at a loss. However incorrect he might have been, Potter's arguments were sound—Scorpius could not prove them wrong.

"If you don't want me to help you, I won't," Scorpius said with cold calm. "I can't remember ever offering to in the first place."

"That's right," said Potter. "You never wanted to help us. I can't believe we ever trusted you. Voldemort must have welcomed you with open arms."

"You're disappointed he didn't kill me," Scorpius said quietly. His eyes were shining.

"He _should_ have. I can't help wondering why he didn't."

Scorpius narrowed his eyes. Luna's hand closed around his wrist, as if to stop him from drawing his wand. Weasley took a step forward, possibly to prevent Potter from doing the same. Hermione looked conflicted. Scorpius turned, jerking his arm out of Luna's grasp, and left the room.

Draco caught Potter's eye, and saw that his expression had changed almost back to normal, except that he looked slightly agitated. Hermione noticed it too. "Harry, are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Potter insisted. "It's _him_. I just can't stand being around him. I get this really bad feeling…"

Draco gave Hermione a meaningful glance. He felt like he was making a critical decision, but she was still focused on Potter. He walked out of the room and started to descend the stairs, not looking back once, even when he heard footsteps behind him.

"I thought you would have chosen Potter. He's your friend, isn't he?" Draco said.

"Yes, but Scorpius is my friend, too," Luna replied. "And if they're going to be fighting each other, it's only fair that they both have two people to talk to about it."

"You don't believe that Scorpius would join the Dark Lord?"

"I think that You-Know-Who hurt him very badly, on the inside."

The sitting room was empty, and Scorpius was not in the kitchen either. Fleur was busy putting away the dishes that had finished washing themselves. Draco stared at her slender figure; she had a way of making him inexplicably nervous.

"Have you seen Scorpius?" Luna asked for him.

"Outside, with Bill," said Fleur. "'E is _charmant_, zat boy." She gave Luna a look close to approving.

"I think so, too. Are you coming, Draco?"

Bill and Scorpius were standing side-by-side at one end of the garden, six feet from the edge of the cliff that overlooked the sea. Bill seemed relaxed, but Scorpius had his arms crossed, and then he turned his head and locked gazes with Draco as he and Luna approached.

Draco wondered what they had been talking about, but then Bill glanced at him and asked, "Can I have a word?"

Scorpius did not seem to object, so Draco nodded, and they walked back toward the cottage.

"Draco, what's going on?" Bill started. "It sounds like Harry's about ready to throw Scorpius off the roof. If they can't even look at each other without fighting…"

"I don't what Potter's problem is," said Draco, "but Scorpius hasn't done anything wrong. What did he tell you?"

"He says he's fine and would rather not discuss it." A disbelieving smile crossed Bill's face.

"He was tortured. Not just physically." Draco had never imagined that he might like any Weasley, but somehow, he felt comfortable telling Bill the truth. "He's confused. I think he just needs some time to adjust. Potter can't seem to get that through his thick head."

The cottage door opened, and Hermione stepped outside.

Bill did not seem to mind her presence; he went on, "I take it he gave you an explanation as to why he arrived here suspiciously clean and well-fed? He could not have been treated the same way as Luna and Ollivander." His tone was light; there was no accusation behind it.

"Stockholm Syndrome," Hermione said suddenly. Draco raised an eyebrow; she explained, "You-Know-Who must have treated him well to try to gain his loyalty."

Bill went back inside, and Hermione started to steer Draco toward the spot where he had left Scorpius and Luna. Scorpius had one arm around her waist, and they were watching the waves. Then, out of nowhere, Scorpius brushed a strand of hair away from Luna's face, and they started kissing.

Hermione's mouth fell open, and she looked at Draco, but he showed no visible reaction. "How long have they been—?"

"They're not," Draco said. "He has no feelings for her. She's just… there."

"That's awful."

Draco smirked. "I'm sure she's perfectly aware of it."

Scorpius let go of Luna as they approached, and then asked Hermione, "What's his excuse this time?"

"It's Voldemort."

Draco flinched; he hated when people said the name unexpectedly.

"What do you mean?" said Scorpius, his eyes narrowed.

"He's using the connection to control Harry's thoughts, I'm sure of it. He's trying to turn the two of you against each other."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow and said, "Can you prove that he's doing it?"

Hermione said nothing, of course—there was no way to sufficiently prove it.

"And even if he is…" Scorpius went on. "So what? Maybe Voldemort is just forcing Harry to say what he's already thinking. You can't tell me Harry's never lied to me before."

"This is exactly what You-Know-Who wants!" said Hermione. "How are we supposed to work together to destroy him if both of you are forgetting who the enemy is?"

"We won't, then," replied Scorpius.

"We won't what?"

"Won't work together. I've already told you everything I know about—" Scorpius hesitated, turning his gaze toward the sea. "You don't need my help," he said after a moment. "Do whatever you want."

Hermione looked at Draco as though she were expecting to him to say something. Draco gave her an apologetic hug, and stood beside Scorpius. Hermione turned around and walked back to the cottage alone.


	20. Missing Pieces

**Chapter 20: Missing Pieces**_  
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_- Scorpius -_

Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent all of Saturday in the smallest bedroom, but Scorpius knew they were making no progress. They were probably chasing the Deathly Hallows, having no idea that they were already in possession of two of them, and the third had long since been rendered useless. He wondered if Voldemort had already figured out where the Elder Wand was.

He played chess with Draco. They drank Butterbeer after dinner, and Scorpius kissed Luna again. Kissing her made him feel relaxed, and she did not seem to mind much. It was wrong, he knew, and Rose was going to kill him if he lived to see her again, but he had promised to trust Draco, and Draco was encouraging anything that made him forget, even temporarily, about Voldemort.

It was past midnight when he fell asleep. His dreams were nightmarish swirls of pain and confusion, and an eerie reminder of what he was supposed to do. _Three days… bring him to me before dawn…_

He woke just as the first light of dawn struck through the bedroom window, and he shivered, but then he remembered that it was Sunday still, the fourth. One more day.

_What do I do?_ Scorpius thought. He wanted to ask Snape for advice, but he already knew what his response would be: '_Do what you must. What is necessary._' But what was necessary? '_Defeat the enemy._'

Hermione had accused him of forgetting who the enemy was. He might have been confused, but he was certain that if there was only one enemy, then it could not be anyone other than Voldemort. He had not forgotten; he only knew that they were not going to win.

They were lost without Scorpius. Was he really the only one brave enough to know that there was only _one_ way forward? He crawled out of bed, and still in his comfortable pyjamas, he opened Draco's trunk. He only glanced at the mess of objects before he realised it would take him ages to find what he needed, then he looked at Draco, sleeping adorably in the bed nearest to the window.

Scorpius smiled. As the warm sun rose over the horizon, so did the tiny ray of clarity that pierced his confusion. He could see the path before him, but there were pieces missing—it was like a puzzle—and he needed to find them.

"Hey," he muttered as he nudged Draco on the chest. "Wake up."

Humorously, Draco seemed to obey his command. A quiet "Hmm?" replied, and he blinked several times.

"Do you have my map?" Scorpius asked. "I left it at Grimmauld Place. You _did_ pack it?"

"Go back to bed," Draco said groggily.

"I need my map. Tell me where it is and I'll go to bed, I promise."

Draco murmured something in which only the words 'Charms textbook' were distinguishable. Scorpius searched the trunk and found it within a minute, and there, inserted between the pages was the old parchment that concealed the Marauder's Map.

He tucked himself back in bed with the parchment on his lap, picked up his wand, and whispered, "_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_." He searched the Slytherin common room and fifth year girls' dormitory, but the map showed no familiar name. It was too early. Term would not begin for another day.

He knew he needed Astoria because of something Voldemort had said that had not been meant for Scorpius to hear: '_I shall accompany you back to Hogwarts. I have… matters I must attend to_.'

He had no idea what Voldemort could possibly have been attending to, but Hogwarts was too special a place to be overlooked. Scorpius deactivated the map, stowed it underneath his pillow, and lied down. He knew he could not sleep, and he did not bother to try. He closed his eyes and composed a letter in his head.

Ten minutes after breakfast, he sat on his bed with his Transfiguration textbook in one hand, and his wand in the other, a debate that should already have been decided running through his head. Draco was watching him.

'_Trust him_,' the angel on his shoulder said as he pretended to read.

_I can't_, Scorpius argued.

'_Trust him!_'

_But what if he won't listen to me?_

"Do you ever wonder if maybe all of this isn't real?" Draco asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?" said Scorpius. "Like we're living in a dream?"

"No, not a dream. Sometimes I feel like I'm a character in a book." Draco touched his face, as though to double-check that it was solid. "Do you ever feel like that?"

Scorpius closed his book and set it down in front of him, then tapped the cover with his wand. The words and images seemed to dissolve into the parchment; the book turned blank. Draco had not noticed.

"I don't know. Maybe," he said. He wondered what Voldemort was planning… _Bloody hell!_ Another piece was fitting itself together in his mind very fast._ Voldemort. Darth Sidious. Voldemort _is_ Darth Sidious! _He had compared them once before on the pretext that most evil overlords were similar, but now he could no longer see any distinction between the two.

Scorpius cleared his head and cast _Geminio_. A second, identical book formed atop the first. His wand tingled in his hand, as though it were happy.

There was no doubt. If he was a character in a book, then he had to be an expy of Anakin Skywalker. The thought of it was terrifying.

He started to cast the Protean Charm, but then Draco interrupted, "What are you doing?"

'_Go on_,' his conscience prodded. '_Tell the truth_.'

Scorpius twirled his wand and asked innocently, "What do you think of Lord Vader? Does it suit me?"

Draco did not answer. He turned toward the window and started to speak thoughtfully. "What I mean is… these past months have been like someone else's twisted fantasy. Potter and I getting along… All the time I've spent with Hermione… the possibility of defeating the Dark Lord… I should have known it would all be ripped away right when I was finally starting to believe that my life had changed."

Scorpius felt a heaviness in his chest. How could he even think of taking Draco away from here and back to the nightmare he had spent weeks convincing him to leave behind? Even if Voldemort did not intend to kill him—and he had never promised not to—there was nothing but pain awaiting him.

Draco looked at Scorpius and suddenly said, "You don't feel any better, do you?"

"I don't know… Everything is still muddled, but I feel like I know what I have to do." He paused. The words 'trust him' started to repeat in his head, over and over. "I can't stand hanging around here doing nothing. I have to go back to the Dark Lord. It's the only way I can beat him."

"All right," said Draco. "I'll go with you."

"No. You have to stay here. I can't force you—"

"I'm not following you blindly. You haven't been here this past week. Potter is grasping at straws—he hasn't got a clue what to do. Chosen one or not, he's no hero. He's been depending on you from the beginning."

In the silence that followed, Scorpius cast the Protean Charm, linking the two identical books. If this was a book… was _he_ the hero?

"Tonight," Scorpius said. "The deadline is dawn. I have a few things I need to take care of first. Don't let anyone else find out or they won't let us go."

…

It was not until after dinner that Scorpius got a chance to pen the letter. He sat on the bedroom floor, an ink bottle beside him, and opened one of the transfigured books. He inked his quill and wrote on the first page:

_A.G.,_

_You have been chosen for a legendary quest of great importance. The enemy's legions are many and widespread; trust no one. Keep this book and the other items safe. Further instructions will follow._

_Gandalf the Grey_

He wished he knew how to key the book to open only for his blood. If Astoria was caught, she would certainly be tortured, and if it was ever linked to Scorpius… He could not think of that. He checked the other book to be sure that he had done the Protean Charm correctly, and then he conjured a small cardboard box.

He checked that Phineas Nigellus' portrait was empty, then placed one of the books inside the box along with the Marauder's Map and his D.A. coin. His wand tingled again as he cast _Muffliato_ around the room, and then sent a Patronus message, but not to Snape.

A loud _crack_ sounded a moment later, and a house-elf appeared in the room, dressed in mismatched socks and five knitted hats.

"Harry Potter's friend wanted Dobby, sir?" the elf said.

Scorpius felt annoyed at being addressed as 'Harry Potter's friend,' but decided it was best not to have Dobby suspect that Harry no longer trusted him, and he cut to his request, "I need you to deliver this to Astoria Greengrass, Slytherin House at Hogwarts. She mustn't know who it's from, and no one else can see it. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir. Dobby will do it if it will help Harry Potter."

"It will." Scorpius handed him the package and added, "Thank you, Dobby."

Dobby vanished with another _crack_. Scorpius cancelled the _Muffliato_ Charm and sat down on the bed for a few minutes. There was one more piece to the puzzle, and it was going to be risky to get.

He shoved the second book into his mokeskin pouch, removed his robe, and then crept down the stairs. He hesitated when he reached the hall. Draco would worry, if he knew what he was doing. But then he heard Fleur's voice approaching from the kitchen, and quickly slipped out the back door.

It was cold. He leaned against the shell-covered wall of the cottage and pulled his black Death Eater robes out of his pouch, throwing them on over his regular clothes. Feeling warmer, he cast a Disillusionment Charm, then Disapparated to Hogsmeade.

It was snowing here. The High Street was covered with a blanket of white, unbroken except where Scorpius had landed, and most of the shop fronts were dark. He ducked into a narrow side street, and lifted the hood of his robes over his head; it covered his hair and a good portion of his face, then he removed the Disillusionment Charm and walked with confidence straight to the Hog's Head.

The pub was nearly empty. A layer of dust on the wooden floor muffled his footsteps as Scorpius made his way to the bar, and while surveying the room, he noticed others dressed in black robes like his. Real Death Eaters.

He sat down on a bar stool and dropped a gold Galleon on the counter top. "Firewhisky," he said quietly to the barman.

A shot glass filled with amber liquid slid across the counter; he started to sip it slowly. It was difficult to see with the hood partially covering his eyes. Scorpius lifted it and looked up just long enough to be sure of the barman's identity; they made eye contact for a second, and then after glancing around to make certain that there was no one else within earshot, he muttered, "Listen. I think you've got something I need, and I'm willing to pay for it. You're Aberforth, right?"

"What do you want?" the barman said in a gruff murmur, neither confirming nor denying the name.

"The two-way mirror. You've got it?"

Aberforth hesitated a long while before he replied, "You shouldn't be here, kid. They're watching you."

Scorpius took another sip of Firewhisky, not daring to look. "I need the mirror," he whispered. "Name your price."

"A hundred Galleons."

His heart beat rapidly. "No way—I haven't got—_Fifty_."

Aberforth turned away from his line of vision. Scorpius inched his head up and barely managed to see a door closing behind him.

He was back within a few minutes, and then subtly passed a small square package wrapped in brown paper across the counter top, close enough so that Scorpius could hide it with his sleeve.

"Get out o' here before you get yourself caught," Aberforth said.

Scorpius drank the rest of the whisky in one gulp, slipping the package into in inside pocket of his robes at the same time. He set the glass down with a whispered, "Thanks," and walked briskly out of the pub.

Cold wind struck his face just as a hand closed around his shoulder from behind and slammed him against the brick wall. His hood was forced back, and Scorpius saw two masked Death Eaters holding him in position, their wands drawn.

"What do we have here?" one of them drawled. "What's the Dark Lord's little pet doing out in Hogsmeade all alone, I wonder?"

His companion laughed, and suddenly Scorpius saw two more behind them. He tried to struggle, but it was no use. His fingers closed around his wand, ready to defend himself at a moment's notice.

"Let go of me," he snarled. Scorpius knew that Death Eater. He had spent over an hour in his company with his wrists and ankles bound, hit with a Cruciatus Curse every time he so much as opened his mouth. But this time, Scorpius was not powerless. "Selwyn, is it? You'd better let me go."

"Are you threatening us?" said the other Death Eater.

"Yes, I am. Good to know I've made myself clear."

"You little brat!" said Selwyn, loosening his grip only to slam Scorpius into the wall a second time, harder than before.

He knew it would have been smarter to Disapparate, that there was no risk of accidentally taking them to Shell Cottage, but if he was going to be a Death Eater, he could not let them think they could intimidate him.

"Watch it," he warned. "You wouldn't want a repeat of what happened the last time you hurt me, would you?"

Selwyn grinded his teeth. Though Scorpius had no idea exactly what Voldemort had done to him, from what Snape had said, he was sure the punishment had been severe.

"Easy now," said a third Death Eater behind Selwyn. "No one said anything about hurting you. We jus' want to know what you're doin' here."

"That's none of your business," said Scorpius, then thinking quickly, he added, "I'm on a mission for the Dark Lord that I'm not supposed to tell anyone about. He wouldn't like it if you forced it out of me."

Selwyn squeezed his shoulder tighter while the third Death Eater took a step forward.

"That so? How about we take 'is little pet back to 'im and find out?"

"I am _not_. His. _Pet_!" Scorpius struggled harder, raising his wand, though he knew that he was outnumbered.

The Death Eaters laughed. Scorpius was beginning to panic. If he was gone too long… if Bill and Fleur—or anyone else realised he was not in the cottage… But he would not beg. He was no longer a prisoner—they had no authority over him.

He pointed his wand straight at Selwyn and said with as much force as he could muster, "Let go of me or I swear I'll kill you!"

Incredibly, Selwyn released him and backed away. Scorpius narrowed his eyes and gazed around at the others to be sure that it was safe before he broke away from the group.

Then suddenly, Selwyn pulled him back by the arm and said, "We'll let you go, but if I find out you're lying to me again…"

Determined to have the last word, Scorpius said quietly, "I'm not worried." He jerked his arm away and walked hurriedly back toward the High Street, Disapparating the moment the Death Eaters were out of sight.

…

The lights were on in the cottage. Scorpius took a moment to catch his breath, then he took off his black robes, shivering. He slipped inside and climbed the stairs as quietly as possible.

Draco turned around the instant that Scorpius entered their bedroom. "Where the _hell_ have you been?" he hissed.

Scorpius tensed. He had barely been gone half an hour. "Nowhere," he said.

"Don't lie," said Draco. "Is it beyond your comprehension that people might actually care about you?"

"People?" He noticed the plural, and wondered if it was intentional. "Who do you mean—besides you?" The others did not care about him. He knew. _The blood-traitors hate you_. His head was spinning.

"I covered for you. No one else knows." Scorpius was shocked at how upset Draco looked. "What were you doing going off on your own?"

"I told you this morning, I had a few things to take care of. I was only running a quick errand." He smirked. "I'm the Dark Lord's pet—the Death Eaters wouldn't dare do anything to me."

Draco regarded him appraisingly. "His pet," he said. "And you say that like you're proud of it. When are we leaving?"

Scorpius fell back onto his bed, stifling a yawn. He was still cold. "Later. Once everyone else is asleep. And I'm not proud of it, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to use it to my advantage."

He closed his eyes, and lifted the blanket over himself, still in his clothes, feeling exhausted. Draco sat down beside him. It was quiet enough that they could hear the rhythm of the waves clearly; Scorpius was lulled almost to sleep when Draco suddenly asked him, "Are my parents all right?"

It took a moment for Scorpius to answer, "Not sure. I barely saw them. Didn't exactly get to roam the manor freely."

"But you _did_ see them?"

"They're alive. Don't worry. Wake me up when it's time to go."

As he drifted between sleep and wakefulness, his thoughts wandered back to the puzzle. There was _still_ something missing—one final piece—what was it?

"Scorpius."

_No… There's just one thing missing, and then everything will fit together… _He counted them off:_ Hogwarts… the mirror… and one more… What else do I need in order to win?_

"Scorpius, wake up—we have to go." Draco's voice was panicked, and he was shaking Scorpius hard.

"What time is it?" Scorpius mumbled. It was still night, he could see the dark garden through the window. There was still time—he could still figure out the last piece before it was too late.

"It's two a.m. Everyone is asleep. Everything's packed. We need to go now." Draco was frantic. "I already wrote a note, so—so they'll know where we've gone…"

"Let me see, I need to add something…"

"We have to go!"

"Calm down." Draco was making him nervous. They still had hours left. "It'll just be a second."

He found the note folded and set atop the wardrobe. It was barely a paragraph, and addressed only to Hermione. Scorpius skipped to the bottom without reading it, and he wrote only five words: _We have the other mirror_.

He summoned his Death Eater robes and put them on while Draco shook with impatience. As Scorpius fastened his cloak, Draco let out a hiss of pain, and finally Scorpius realised what it was that made him so anxious to leave.

"He's calling you?"

Draco nodded, and in an instant Scorpius took his left arm and pushed back the sleeve—he needed to _see_ it. Draco winced; the skull and snake burned a deep black into his skin. There was no more time, Scorpius knew—this was a message for _him_, and it was clear: Voldemort had altered the deadline.

"We'd better go," Scorpius said, suddenly feeling wide awake, and as they tiptoed outside the cottage and grasped hands to Disapparate, he felt a glimmer of clarity. The Dark Mark—that was the final piece.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Expy = exported character (Scorpius, being a very genre-savvy hero, would certainly know the short form). Essentially, he _is_ Anakin Skywalker, although Scorpius is a little less arrogant. This was mostly unintentional, and probably due to a plot bunny bouncing in my head for a Star Wars crossover with Anakin replacing Harry and Voldemort replacing Sidious. But as this is _not_ a crossover, whether or not Scorpius actually turns evil, there is no way that Voldemort is going to have a second Dark Lord ruling alongside him.

**Final chapter coming on leap day.**


	21. The Dark Mark

**Chapter 21: The Dark Mark**_  
><em>

_- Draco -_

The burning pain from the Dark Mark faded the moment they stepped through the gates of Malfoy Manor, but Draco still felt sick. His father's peacocks roamed atop the yew hedges, uncaring; gravel crackled beneath their shoes as they walked, and Draco abruptly let go of Scorpius' hand. He was sure he was walking toward his death, but if there was any chance that he might survive until morning, any sign of weakness would certainly decrease it.

The house was almost invisible in the darkness; there were no lights in the diamond-paned windows. Draco wondered if Scorpius understood the extent of how he felt—that he would—readily and without question—die for him.

"Don't be scared, Draco," Scorpius said. "I won't let him kill you, no matter what. I promise."

He had no idea. Draco sighed and told him, "That's not how it's supposed to work. Parents are supposed to protect their children, except in the case of adult sons protecting their mothers in the absence of a father. Don't you know anything?"

"You're not my—"

"Don't even say it. I'm not scared. It's you we need to protect now."

It was true; Draco was _not_ scared—he was terrified.

"I'm not in danger from him," said Scorpius.

"I didn't say from _him_."

Scorpius was out of his mind; he was in danger from himself. Voldemort was taking advantage of his vulnerability, and he still had no idea.

The double front doors swung open as they approached, and then closed behind them with an ominous echo. The hallway was silent, dim, and empty. They walked to the door at the far end, the eyes of the pale-faced portraits following them.

Lucius Malfoy rose from a chair at the sound of the door opening; the instant they made eye contact, he looked as though he had been stunned. Draco took a step back, and might have stepped back into the hall, if Scorpius had not been directly behind him. The only other person in the room was Wormtail, and he looked excited.

Scorpius steadied Draco, stepped forward, and then spoke with authority that Draco had never known he possessed, "Where is the Dark Lord?" He was looking directly at Draco's father with an expression of cold neutrality.

Lucius took a few hesitant steps toward them, and Scorpius pulled Draco forward too. Wormtail looked gleeful; clearly, he was the only one who had been expecting them.

"Draco, what are you doing here?" said Lucius, his voice hushed.

"I was called, Father," Draco replied. He glanced down at his left arm to make the meaning clear.

A year and a half, it had been since he had last seen his father. Azkaban had changed him. His eyes were sunken, and he no longer stood with the proud, erect posture that he had always used to assert the Malfoys' status.

"Didn't he tell you?" asked Scorpius, his tone still cold and emotionless.

Lucius glanced at him for a second, and Draco could not quite place his expression—it almost looked like _fear_.

He looked back at Draco and answered quietly, "He said he was expecting company. Draco, he is going to—"

Lucius stopped mid-sentence, and his face paled. Draco knew why; Wormtail had gone to summon _him_.

"By all means, Lucius," Voldemort said softly, "finish that sentence. What am I going to do?"

Lucius bowed without answering. Draco and Scorpius turned toward the Dark Lord and bowed as well, almost in unison. The door that led to the parlour was open, and Wormtail stood hovering nearby, watching from a safe distance.

"Let me see…" Voldemort said as he moved closer.

They were made to stand side-by-side, and Voldemort looked both of them up and down, uncomfortably close. "Such an uncanny resemblance," he commented.

Draco knew what Voldemort was doing; he was memorising every difference, so that he would never mistake one for the other, but though it _might_ mean that he intended for both of them to live, it still brought Draco no comfort.

"Almost like _twins_…"

Then, Voldemort took Draco's arm and pushed back the sleeve. He ran a pale finger along his Mark, and Draco felt it tingle slightly. He replaced the sleeve, and then pulled the two of them apart, like they were rag dolls.

"Lucius, give the other one any room he chooses. He will be staying. Draco…" Voldemort paused, and his red eyes bore dangerously into Draco's grey ones. "Come. We must discuss your punishment."

Draco shook with fear as he was led to the parlour, again feeling like he was walking toward his death.

_- Scorpius -_

"You must hate it," Scorpius said as he climbed the stairs in step with Lucius, "being ordered around in your own home." He spoke in a friendly tone now because it was just the two of them, and Scorpius knew that they were on the same side, but still he got the impression that Lucius was afraid of him.

"Narcissa and I are happy to have our Lord in our home," Lucius said with a hint of pride that was obviously fake.

"I doubt that," said Scorpius. "And I want Draco's room." Lucius shot him a look that might have been outrage if it was not tinged with fear. "He won't object. We've shared a room for the last seven months," Scorpius quickly amended. "We're very close."

"How do you know my son?" asked Lucius.

"The Dark Lord doesn't tell you much of anything, does he?" Scorpius said as they neared the second floor. "You don't even know who I am."

Lucius led him to the first bedroom off the landing without comment.

"Send Draco up when he's done."

Lucius nodded; Scorpius closed the door and sat on the bed, his arms wrapped around his knees. The coldness he had projected during the last ten minutes was as fake as Lucius' pride in hosting the Dark Lord. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Draco alone with him; he had been on the edge of offering to take the punishment himself, but he knew that Voldemort would never have allowed that.

Scorpius took several deep breathes, then summoned the blank book out of his mokeskin pouch, and found a quill and ink in the desk drawer. He opened the book, and saw that there was already something written on the first page in curvy handwriting just below the signature: _Waiting for instruction._

Had she figured out on her own that she could contact him by writing in the book? Scorpius could not help but feel impressed. _Astoria?_ he wrote.

Only a short moment passed before ink appeared, as though written by an invisible hand, forming a reply, '_Yes?_'

_You're still awake?_ Scorpius wrote back. It was past two o'clock, and he was sure she must have classes in the morning.

'_I was waiting for you to write back._'

_How did you know there's a Protean Charm on the book?_ asked Scorpius.

'Specialis Revelio._ I can tell there's one on the coin, too, but nothing happened with the parchment. Are you going to tell me what's going on? Who is the enemy?_'

_Who do you think?_ He was honestly curious; he had thought she would have known.

'_Harry Potter?_'

His hand shook slightly as he wrote, _Be serious. I can't tell if you're using sarcasm._

'_I_ was_ serious._' There was a pause, and Scorpius started to feel panicky. Had he judged her wrongly? She was certainly no blood-traitor, but he had thought that she was intelligent enough to realise that Voldemort was a danger to _all_ wizards. Then suddenly more words began to appear, '_Okay, I was joking. The enemy is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._'

_Don't ever do that again!_ Scorpius wrote quickly. _Yes, it is. I need your help to defeat him. Do you accept?_

Astoria's response came immediately, '_Is it possible?_'

_Yes. He has a weakness. Don't worry. I will be the one to kill him, you will not have to fight._

'_Trust no one… so I shouldn't trust you?_'

Scorpius thought for almost a full minute before he wrote,_ If we meet in person, absolutely not. As for what I write in the book, you can make your own judgements._

'_Who are you? I know you're not really Gandalf._'

He smiled. _I am a disturber of the peace, and obviously, a wizard. Much like Gandalf. Really, I can't tell you, for your own safety. If you are caught, and this is linked back to me, your crime will automatically escalate from mischief to high treason. The enemy will probably kill you just to punish me._

'_Okay… so I don't have to fight…_' Her words came excitedly now, but there were short pauses between each phrase. '_There's mischief involved… I must trust no one… We communicate through a book… You want me to spy?_'

She was definitely not slow on the uptake. _Yes._

'_On?_'

_Hogwarts. I need to know what's going on. Tell me everything that's new this year._

Immediately, ink in curvy handwriting started to pour almost as quickly as Scorpius could read, spilling onto the next two pages…

'_Okay. The Carrows. They're insane, both of them. Everyone has to take Muggle Studies now, which is taught by the sister, Alecto. It's bollocks, the whole subject. That woman talks about Muggles like they're a whole different species—like some kind of animal. I might be able to excuse it if she honestly believed that, but… She's a cow, and I hate, hate, hate being lied to!_

'_Detention. It hasn't happened to me yet, but from what I've heard, it seems to be a euphemism for torture. Amycus, the brother Carrow, teaches Dark Arts (it's not Defence anymore), and according to my sister, who's in seventh, the upper years are actually learning the Unforgivable Curses—we'll, they're perfectly legal now, but you probably already know that. And they practice them on kids who have earned detention (well, not the Killing Curse, thankfully). No one's died yet that I know of._

'_Besides that, Dark Arts is okay. Carrow can be a twit, and is definitely sadistic, but he's a better teacher than Umbridge was, at least, although that's not saying much. I haven't seen Professor Snape around—_' Scorpius noticed the use of his title '_—except at meals, but don't rely on that observation—the houses are more segregated than ever, since nobody feels safe outside their common rooms._

'_Muggle-borns are no longer allowed to attend school. There weren't many in Slytherin to begin with—none in my sister's year, but we lost a boy in mine. Filch has been outed as a Squib, and no longer has any power over the students, but he was allowed to stay as caretaker. Hagrid, for the same reason (except he's half-giant) is no longer allowed to teach, but he's still gamekeeper._

'_Security is tighter than ever. They've got dementors stationed at all exits. No more Hogsmeade weekends. No one is allowed on the grounds after sundown, and it's an automatic "detention" if we're caught outside our common rooms after curfew. That's about all I can think of, except for…_'

Then, she asked the exact question he had been waiting for, '_Have you heard of Dumbledore's Army?_'

_Yes_, Scorpius wrote. _That's what the coin is for—it's one of their communicators. What does it say now? I forgot to check before sending it to you._

'_Random numbers._'

_Random? Not like a date?_

There was a pause, then Astoria wrote, '_No. Just numbers, no pattern that I can figure out._'

_They must erase their messages, then. Keep an eye on the coin, and send me anything that comes up—I want to know what they're up to, but be wary of approaching them. Trust _no one_. Gryffindors tend to be unnecessarily reckless…_

'_I know what you mean. So what is the parchment, then? Another secret communication device?_'

Almost an hour had passed since he had left Draco with Voldemort, and Scorpius was starting to feel shaky again. _No, it's something else, I'll tell you later_, he wrote quickly._ You should go to bed. No matter what, you mustn't draw attention. I will be in touch._

Astoria replied, '_Okay_,' and then he closed the book, and sat down on the bed again, fidgeting. Why had Draco not come back yet? What could be taking so long?

He waited another ten minutes before the bedroom door finally opened. Draco's eyes were swollen, and his cheeks were tear-stained. His chest was bare; he was holding his robes in a crumpled pile in his arms. He closed the door without turning his back to Scorpius, and then sat down beside him.

"Sorry it took so long," Draco murmured. "I had to talk to my father, and…" He blinked, and did not finish his sentence.

_Okay, he's alive_, Scorpius thought. _That's good, right?_ Draco was shivering. "Why are you not wearing a shirt?" asked Scorpius.

Draco glanced at him, a terrified look in his eyes, and did not answer. Scorpius placed a hand on his shoulder—Draco winced—and then he saw—his back was covered in deep red welts; some of the crosses were still bleeding.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Draco said quietly. "My father helped me wash most of the blood off already."

"We must have dittany—" Scorpius stood, but quick as lightning, Draco grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm not allowed to use any magic to heal it—including herbs and potions. He'll find out and punish me again." He was still shivering, and his voice sounded faint. "Don't worry. It doesn't hurt as much as it did a moment ago."

"I thought he would have used the Cruciatus Curse…"

There was a short pause, then Draco said, "He did. This was just extra. For delaying the punishment. Seven lashes, one for each month I've been away."

Scorpius looked again; there was eleven in total. He was beginning to feel sick. _This is my fault_, he thought. _I brought him here. I didn't even _ask_ to take the punishment for him._ "There's more than seven," he said.

Draco dropped his voice to a whisper as he replied, "He made me count them. I wasn't fast enough."

"And he _Crucio_'d you—before?" Draco nodded. "That couldn't have taken more than fifteen minutes. What else did he do?" There was a long silence; Draco would not look at him. "Draco, tell me."

"He wanted to know everything I've been up to… since the night Dumbledore died, at first, but as soon as I mentioned you, he decided he wanted to know everything that happened since we met. I couldn't lie. I tried to—he can't break into my mind, but he can tell when I'm using Occlumency against him. He gave me one warning, and said if he caught me trying to hide anything again, he would add to my punishment."

"You didn't tell him about Snape, did you?" Scorpius immediately regretted the accusatory tone; really, he did not blame Draco if he had told Voldemort every last detail about everything.

"No, he didn't ask me much about Snape. I managed to skip a lot. He was mostly interested in you, and Potter. I had to tell him everything I knew. And… he put a Tongue-Tying Curse on me. So I can't talk about…"

Draco fell silent and his expression turned blank, but he did not need to say it. He could not talk about Horcruxes. "I know," said Scorpius softly. "It's okay. We'll find a way to work around it."

"He wants to see you. Whenever you're ready, he said."

_Ready for what?_ Scorpius wondered, though he had a guess in mind. He stood. "Okay. You lie down. I'll try not to take too long."

Draco nodded. He was still staring at the rug on the floor. "Draco?" He still did not look up. Scorpius kissed him on his forehead. "I love you. And I'm sorry."

…

Voldemort was waiting for him in the parlour. A fire was lit, and the red curtains over the windows were closed. Scorpius knelt, his black robes swishing around him. "You wanted to see me?" he asked quietly.

"What did I tell you to call me, Scorpius?"

"Master."

"Very good." He was watching Scorpius with a predatory look in his eyes. "Actually, I expected you would like to speak with me. You have done well. I will grant you one request."

_One request… what does he mean?_ "I don't understand." Voldemort glared at him, and something in his gaze told Scorpius what he was expecting. "Master," he added.

"We have already discussed this," said Voldemort. "You have done in less than three days what none of my servants could do in seven months. I have offered you the highest position in my ranks, if you wish to accept…"

_The highest position?_ Scorpius thought. _He had only said the highest _rank_ before…_ "But you said you could send me home…"

"I can…" Voldemort said, but there was something in his tone that Scorpius did not like.

"That's what I want. Master, you said I could have one request. I want to go home." His body was shaking, but it was more out of nervousness than fear.

"You are certain?" Voldemort asked.

Scorpius felt like he was at a crossroad, that he was about to make some important decision without enough time to properly think on it. "Yes, Master," he said.

Voldemort reached into his robes and slowly pulled out a gold chain with an encircled hourglass on the end. He held it out in front of Scorpius and whispered softly, "You wish to go home… _now_?"

Scorpius heard the implication in his tone. It was _now_ or _never_, he knew. He would have no chance even to say goodbye to anyone, to give Draco any final instructions, to ensure that he would stay safe… But the clarity he had felt earlier in the evening was gone. All that he felt now, in Voldemort's presence, was confusion.

He thought of Rose, Al, his real father, Harry, his mother… But this world that he had either created or discovered—it would not be erased… All the problems he had caused would not fix themselves. He was supposed to be the hero. If he left now, Voldemort would probably win. But as he gazed at the Time-Turner dangling before him, without conscious thought, Scorpius found himself saying, "Yes, Master. I want to go home now."

Scorpius bowed his head, and Voldemort wrapped the chain around his neck, still holding the hourglass in one hand. He tapped it with his wand.

Nothing happened for a short moment, then suddenly the chain started to crack, and as Scorpius looked up, horrified, into Voldemort's blood-red eyes, within a second, the golden hourglass exploded into a thousand tiny pieces, and the broken chain fell from his neck. For another second, he waited for Voldemort to show any sign of surprise or concern—any indication that he had messed up the spell—but no—he had done precisely what he had meant to.

Scorpius stopped thinking. He was shocked and angry—too angry even to revert to uncensored logic. There was only one thing he could say: "I'm going to kill you."

Voldemort, in true villain fashion, laughed.

"Scorpius, I never said that I _would_ send you home. In fact, such an action would be rather counterproductive, particularly now that you are proving to be such a useful servant."

Scorpius was shaking still, but not from fear or nervousness—now, it was barely-controlled fury. His hands fell to the floor and curled into fists around the broken pieces of the golden chain; the metal cracked and disintegrated as he squeezed.

"You fucking bastard!" In normal circumstances, he would have known that shouting insults at Voldemort was close to suicidal, but his logic was only slowly returning as he absorbed the shock. "It isn't fair—you implied that you would!"

"Enough," Voldemort said. His tone held no trace of anger. "One more word and I will kill your whole family."

Scorpius clenched his teeth. His thought processes were starting to function again, and he was certain Voldemort would carry out that threat—and it was _his_ fault that Voldemort now had his whole family under his power.

"Join me, Scorpius. You will be honoured above all others. I will train you in the Dark Arts, and make you powerful. You will answer to no one but me. What do you think? You may speak only to answer, with appropriate respect."

_What can I do?_ Scorpius thought. He was stuck. He could not go home—never—there was no chance of it. He remembered that in a moment of clarity, he had understood the importance of getting close to Voldemort in order to defeat him, but now in his endless confusion, he felt like he was living the third Star Wars film—the scene in which Sidious kills Windu with Anakin's help, and then Anakin shouts, '_What have I done?_' but by then he's realised that he's already too far gone, and then—it was exactly the same. There was no choice. He was already kneeling before Voldemort—just as Anakin had—and Sidious had had the same gleeful look on his face that Voldemort was wearing now—he might as well repeat the same line…

"I will do whatever you ask, Master."

Scorpius winced at the sound of his own voice, and he was shaking again—and this time it _was_ out of fear.

"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort, and there was no question of which arm he meant.

Scorpius obeyed, and Voldemort pushed his sleeve back. His pale forearm almost seemed to glow in the firelight, and against the black fabric of his robes, it looked oddly disconnected from the rest of his body. Maybe none of it was real, he thought. Maybe he really was just a character in a book, or more likely, an actor in a Star Wars film—but he could not see the cameras, and it was too dark to get a proper picture.

Voldemort touched the tip of his wand to the centre of Scorpius' wrist, and then he could no longer see or think. His arm was locked in place—he could not pull away—and it was surely on fire. He screamed, and when the worst of it passed, he opened his eyes and saw that there was no fire, but his skin was bubbling as though it were liquid, and turning black, in the shape of a skull with a serpent slithering out of its mouth.

After seconds that felt like hours, Voldemort released him, and his hand again fell to the floor. Scorpius panted.

"How do you feel?" Voldemort asked.

He felt sick. He wanted to vomit. His entire left arm was still throbbing. He glanced down at the Mark that was now clear and still burning black. "I don't know," he whispered. He had honestly forgot to add 'Master' that time.

…

All of the lamps except one were out, and Draco was lying on his stomach, dressed in pyjama trousers and a loose t-shirt. Scorpius sat beside him and stroked his hair; he used his right hand, because his left arm still hurt at the slightest touch. Draco opened his eyes and sat up.

"What did he want?" he asked quietly. "He didn't Mark you, did he?"

"Draco, he's evil," said Scorpius. "He's completely evil. He must be stopped."

"I know. You're evading my question."

"I'm sorry." Scorpius glanced over at his left arm. "I didn't have a choice. I wasn't going to, at first. He offered me a reward—I think he wanted me to ask for the Mark, but he must have overestimated my loyalty. I asked him to send me home."

"And he refused?" Draco said.

"Worse. He broke my Time-Turner."

"So that means you're—"

"Stuck here. Forever."

Draco was silent, and had a blank look on his face for a long while, then suddenly he smiled—and it was not a small smile—he looked just as gleeful as Voldemort had when Scorpius had pledged to do whatever he asked—he could not seem to help it. "I won't pretend I'm upset about that," he said.

"You git," said Scorpius, and he was smiling too, but only because Draco's undue happiness was so contagious. "Don't you realise that everything bad that's happened to you in the last eight months has been my fault?"

"Yes," Draco replied, "but everything _good_ that's happened to me in the last eight months is _also_ your fault. It'll be all right. We can be brothers."

Scorpius sighed, but he knew there was no persuading him. Of course Draco would not want him to leave.

He summoned the square package he had got from Aberforth, and unwrapped the mirror. Everything was in place. "You're right. We can win. He's making critical mistakes already, first by overestimating my loyalty—actually, I think I knew he wasn't going to send me home, and that was probably the only reason why I asked him to, but then he lied by implication, and the bastard must know how much I hate being lied to—he wasn't surprised at all by my reaction." He smirked. "I'm no Darth Vader. He'll never win me over."

"Vader?" said Draco. "That sounds like a junior—_him_."

_Voldemort. Vader_, Scorpius compared in his head. Draco was right.

"What's the mirror for?"

"It's two-way," Scorpius explained. "Harry's got the other one. So you can keep in contact with them, if you want to."

"I'm going to assume that you either mean 'Hermione' instead of 'them' or both of us instead of me." Scorpius opened his mouth, but Draco quickly added, "Potter doesn't hate you. Don't even say it." Draco tucked the mirror under a pillow and lied down. "I am going to sleep. You should do the same."

They were going to win, Scorpius knew. No matter what the cost.

* * *

><p><strong>AND THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES…<strong>

in…_ The Price of Change_, which is available now—paste this in your browser to go straight there: /s/7882342/1/The_Price_of_Change


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